


Loving Me With All My Watercolors

by Kye_Kreole



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist!Oliver, Jock!Barry, M/M, Minor Linda Park/Iris West, Painting, Running, Semi-Public Sex, past traumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kye_Kreole/pseuds/Kye_Kreole
Summary: Oliver has lost his muse and can't even paint what is normal for him.Enter track star, Barry Allen to help him.





	1. In Your Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, was this a challenge.   
> I knew this would be long but what it ended up being is a bit ridiculous.  
> Thanks for coming here and reading it. I hope you have a great day and enjoy this monster of a fic.

Oliver clenches his jaw as he stares at the canvas. The class had started twenty minutes ago, and he hasn’t sketched or painted anything. The emptiness mocks him. It makes him feel useless. It makes him feel like an idiot. He even has the perfect view outside the windows that should be sparking his muse.

He picks up a small brush, then switches it to a pencil, then to a larger brush, then to charcoal.

“Just pick one,” he mutters under his breath. He grabs the pencil and looks up to the window, looking at the scenery. He can see the whole of Metropolis and then off to the mountains off to the horizon. It is exactly his ideal inspiration and it should be enough to get him drawing and painting.

So why isn’t it?

“Bad day, Oliver?” a gruff voice asks behind him.

Oliver turns to look at Professor Yao Fei Gulong. His casual clothes and untamable hair are at odds with his title and prestige at the university.

“No,” Oliver grumbles, turning back to the canvas. “Just deciding which window offers the best landscape view.”

“Another landscape?” Yao Fei asks with a sigh.

Oliver jaw clenches.

“It’s what I’m best at,” he insists.

“And that’s why I thought you took this class,” Yao Fei says. “To challenge yourself, step outside your comfort zone, outside the safe.”

Oliver closes his eyes and sighs. They’d had this conversation before. Oliver had told Yao Fei exactly why he was exclusively a landscape artist, and yet the man insists on forcing him out of that, into other inspirations.

“Your mistake then,” Oliver says and looks to the canvas, still mocking him. He lifts the pencil and starts drawing the landscape outside, just to get the man to leave him alone.

He hears Yao Fei sigh and shuffle to another student. Oliver focuses on the lines and shapes he draws, but by the end of the class, he is no more inspired than before. The pencil markings are meaningless and hold no passion his works usually exude.

He places it to the side of the room and storms out of the building. The sunny day could not disperse the cloud that hangs over his head.

What is wrong with him?

He crosses to where his motorcycle is parked and stops when he sees who is leaning against it.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping up to the vehicle.

Laurel smiles softly at him. “Do I need an excuse to visit a friend?”

“When you travel all the way from Star City in the middle of the work week,” Oliver says, giving her a pointed look.

She sighs and steps away from the bike. Oliver grabs his helmet from the storage compartment and throws his leg over to straddle the seat.

“Your father wanted to send Chase,” Laurel says, “but I insisted it should be me.”

Oliver starts the bike, not looking up.

“I have a reservation at  _ Eobard’s _ ,” she shouts over the engine. “Eight o’clock. Show up please.”

Oliver pushes off and drives away.

~

Barry breathes heavily as he pushes his muscles further around the track. His calves are burning as his feet hit the pavement.

_ One more lap _ , he tells himself. He can feel the sun shining on his bare shoulders, feel sweat drip from his eyelids and feel the heat rising from the track.

“That’s enough, kid,” an Australian voice calls.

Barry ignores it. He can make it. Just a few more yards.

“Barry,” the voice calls again.

Just a little faster.

_ Barry! _ A different voice calls, wrenched from his memories. Just a little more.

“Enough, kid!” Coach Wilson shouts, pulling Barry out of his memories.

Barry slows down and stops just past the end line. He bends over as he gasps for his breath. He can feel the burn in his arms and especially his legs. They would be sore again, just like they’d been this morning.

“You’ve been going for almost forty-five minutes, kid.” Slade Wilson’s gruff accented voice pulls Barry out of his head, away from the pain in his body.

“Need to keep up the stamina and endurance, coach,” he says between breaths. He makes his way to the ground and lays out on the hot concrete, hands by his head and chest heaving. His eyes are closed, and he can hear Coach Wilson’s steps near his head.

“You’ve been doing that for weeks now, kid,” he reprimands. “Endurance isn’t the only thing you should be working on.”

“It’s my weakest,” Barry says, slowly catching his breath. “I need to get better with it.”

“Not how you’re doing it though,” Slade says. “Hit the showers, kid. And get more water in you.”

Barry nods and stands, ignoring the ache in his joints and muscles. He jogs to his water bottle and towel by the stands. He vaguely notices someone sitting near him, but he focuses on the water and stretching out his legs.

“That was impressive, Mr. Allen.”

Barry glances up and looks at the man sitting in the stands. He has Asian features, long dark hair, and his clothes are stained with paint and charcoal.

“Thanks,” Barry says, picking up his right foot to stretch his quads. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” the man says, “I believe you can.”

He stands and walks down the steps near Barry.

“I’m Professor Yao Fei Gulong, and I’m the Head of the Visual Arts department here.”

Barry nods, switches to his left leg.

“I have a student who is struggling, and I think you could be of great help to him.”

~

Oliver shuffles into his loft. The entire apartment is one open space, kitchen, living room, and bedroom all in one place. Floor to ceiling windows that lead to the balcony, allowing for plenty of natural light in for Oliver to work. The kitchen area has state of the art stainless steel everything. Oliver loves cooking almost as much as he loves art.

He puts his bag on the king-sized bed and looks to the center of the room where his easel waited. Empty just like the canvas on campus.

Normally, he would’ve moved directly to it after getting home, but he didn’t feel the pull. He feels his frustration rise again. He moves to his dresser and pulls out gym shorts. He changes his pants and yanks his shirt off. Maybe he can push through the slump with sweat and sore muscles.

In the corner opposite the bed resides his salmon ladder, specially installed and reaching all the way to the ceiling. He grabs the bar and prepares for his exercises. He takes a deep breath and flexes his muscles. He moves the bar and jumps up to the next rung, his feet dangling above the ground. He concentrates and moves to the next rung and the next one. He concentrates on reaching the top. He focuses on his tense muscles, the sweat starting to drip from his head, the cool air against his warm chest.

He reaches the top wrung then moved down, wrung by wrung. His feet touch the ground, then he moves back up. He focuses on the sweat streaming down his body, his heavy breathing. He tries to clear his mind, focus on the task, to allow inspiration to come.

A blank canvas.

A useless artist.

He’s halfway down when he pulls the bar out too far and falls the rest of the way down.

Useless.

He drops the bar to the ground and walks to the fridge for cold water. He chugs the bottle empty. He calms his breathing and looks back to his easel, praying for anything.

Nothing.

He sighs and glances at the oven clock.

7:10 PM.

If he hurries, he could be showered and dressed in enough time to meet Laurel.

He strips and moves to the bathroom. Clean and simple, it has a claw-foot tub with a shower head and curtain above it. He steps in and turns the water to scalding. He gasps at the initial cold water and focuses on the changing heat streaming down his chest.

He tries to think of a landscape. Any landscape. He tries to see the slopes of the mountains, the light bouncing off the breezy trees, the architecture of the skyscrapers, the color of the sky, the texture of the paint on canvas.

He almost has it, then it all just falls apart in his mind’s eye.

He comes back to reality, the scalding water, the steam rising above his head, the dinner.

He quickly rubs soap along his body and through his hair. He lets the water rinse the suds away and breathes in the steam.

He steps out and gets dressed, trying to look nice enough for  _ Eobard’s _ . He looks in the mirror and reminisces at how much he’s changed since he left Star City. His hair is shorter, no longer covering his face. His shoulders are tenser, and his gaze more intense.

He pushes away and grabs his wallet.

~

Laurel is already seated when he arrives. She looks surprised when he sits down across from her.

“Hi, Ollie,” she greets. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.”

“Better make it worth my while,” he mumbles.

Laurel sighs. “Can we at least eat first?”

Oliver takes a deep breath then nods. They’re here after all.

They’re halfway through their entree before Oliver can’t take it any longer.

“So, what does my father want?”

Laurel sets down her wine glass and pulls documents out of her bag. Oliver grabs them and flips through the papers. He squints as he deciphers the long-winded jargon.

“He wants me to be his COO?” He looks up to Laurel.

She nods, grimacing at her food.

“Why?” he asks. “I’ve told him in no uncertain terms, I don’t want to.”

“He doesn’t believe you,” Laurel explains. “He wanted Adrian Chase to come bully you into agreeing.”

“I’m not gonna change my mind,” Oliver says, dropping the papers to the table.

“I tried to tell him,” Laurel says. “He wouldn’t hear it.”

Oliver sighs and gestures to the waiter.

“He thinks this is just a phase,” she explains.

“It’s not.”

“I know that,” Laurel promises. She intercepts the waiter for the check. When Oliver tries to argue, she holds up a hand. “It’s his money. He really wants you to accept.”

She looks up to Oliver and sighs.

“I hope you’re doing okay, Ollie.”

She stands and leaves him at the table.

~

Oliver shuffles into his apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. He shuts the door and starts pulling his clothes off. He walks over to the windows, basking naked in the city’s lights.

He looks along the skyline, tracing the shadows of the skyscrapers, following the faint outlines of the mountains in the distance. He loves looking at it, but he can’t bring himself to do anything with it.

He moves to the bed, not bothering to pull the sheets over him.

He hears his phone vibrate and opens it to see an email from Professor Yao Fei

_ Oliver, _

_ Could we meet in my office tomorrow during your lunch? _

_ I have a proposition that might interest you. _

Oliver groans, tossing the phone away. He turns to look out the windows, letting the dark sky and humming city lull him to sleep.


	2. I'm Not One to Fit One Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Oliver meet.

Oliver climbs the stairs in the old building that houses the offices for the Visual Arts professors. Yao Fei’s is on the top floor of course and Oliver doesn’t trust the elevator one bit. He passes by open and closed doors and knocks on the one at the end of the hall.

“Come in,” Yao Fei’s voice calls.

Oliver pushes open the door and stops at the scene before him. The office is small walls covered with paintings and drawings pinned to the walls. The one bookshelf has one row and a half of books, with the rest of it bursting with figurines and statues.

Yao Fei sits behind his desk, leaning on it toward someone in a seat across from him with a watercolor painting between them.

Oliver stares at the man. The first word that comes to mind is long. A lithe body with lean muscles that even the sweater and jeans can’t hide, hair that looks like the hot cocoa Oliver’s mother used to make when he was younger, and his eyes are a brilliant green that the grass and trees would be envious of.

“Perfect,” Yao Fei says. He points to the man. “Oliver this is Barry Allen. Mr. Allen, this is Oliver Queen.”

Barry stands and reaches a hand forward. Oliver shakes it more out of habit. He studies Barry, trying to figure out how he would mix his paints to match those eyes.

“Hi,” Barry says, stepping back to the seat. “Professor Gulong was just showing me some of your work and… wow. You’re an incredible artist.”

“Thank you,” Oliver mutters taking the other seat across from Yao Fei.

Barry’s smile twitches and he turns back to the professor. “So, when do we start?”

“Hopefully immediately,” Yao Fei says, “but that’s all up to Oliver.”

“What’s up to me?” Oliver asks, coming out of his mental painting of Barry’s eyes.

“When you start this project I am offering you,” Yao Fei says. He leans back in his chair. “Metropolis Museum of Art wishes to showcase a student’s work in a few months. I chose you.”

Oliver’s jaw drops. “Thank you, sir.”

“There are stipulations,” Yao Fei continues. “I’ve already picked which of your landscapes to showcase but I need more.”

“More?” Oliver asks.

“You’re an incredible artist, Oliver, and I want to show that. Your landscapes aren’t enough. Barry is here to help you step outside your comfort zone. Push you out of your block and to a new muse.”

Oliver stares, not sure what to say.

“Well,” Yao Fei says, turning to his computer. “I’m sure you both want to eat your lunch and figure out what you’re going to do.”

Barry and Oliver stand and leave the room. Oliver stares blankly down the hall until they reach the stairs. The room is spinning, and he can barely breathe.

“So, what are you thinking?” Barry asks.

Oliver looks up into those eyes. “About what?”

“I mean, I know most artists have their process,” Barry says, “and I don’t want to run all over it, but Professor Gulong said I need to push you, physically if necessary, so I figured we find a place to start then see where we can go from there-”

“I can’t do this,” Oliver interrupts. He turns back to the hall.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Barry says, stumbling after Oliver.

Oliver hears the heavy footsteps and stops when a hand grabs his shoulder and turns him around. Oliver looks at Barry who places his hands on both of Oliver’s shoulders.

“Look,” he says, looking into Oliver’s eyes. “I saw some of your stuff and you’re amazing. Professor Gulong thinks you can do anything you set your mind to and I think his judgment is spot on.”

Oliver continues to stare at Barry’s face, imagining the colors that would best suit his skin tone.

“Besides, I do have some selfish reasons for you to do this project,” Barry continues. “I’m behind on my Humanities credits and if I help you, Professor Gulong will write it off for me as a credit. So, I’m gonna help you, however I can get your work into that gallery.”

Oliver is imagining the brushes he would use to capture the texture of Barry’s hair when he realizes the room is no longer spinning and his breathing is even.

“How did you do that?” Oliver asks.

“Do what?”

“You… helped me calm down…” Oliver mutters.

Barry smiles and Oliver starts imagining the lines and angles he would use to draw it.

“Yeah,” Barry says. “When I was younger I had a lot of panic attacks. My adoptive father used to help me come down from them all the time.”

Oliver continues to stare at Barry.

“Why don’t we go get some lunch,” Barry suggested, gently guiding Oliver to the elevator.

~

Barry can’t believe it. His hand twitches with the need to text Iris and tell her exactly who he is having lunch with. She would probably demand proof and then scream on the phone with him about Oliver fucking Queen.

Barry leads them to the student center, knowing the burger kiosk is open and shouldn’t be as busy as the other food options.

Oliver seems better now, though Barry saw him tense when they entered the loud echoing room. Barry places his hand on Oliver’s shoulder blade, offering support and direction. They order and sit down. Barry looks around the seating area, feeling Oliver’s intense gaze on him.

“What do you do?” Oliver asks him.

Barry turns back to Oliver. He just can’t believe he’s even real. When Professor Gulong had said one of his art students needed help, Barry certainly didn’t imagine the wall of muscle, chiseled features, and intense blue eyes that sits across from him.

“I run track,” Barry explains. “Coach Wilson is basically training me for the Olympics and I spend most of my time on the track.”

Oliver nods, squinting at Barry. Barry looks down at his arms crossed on the table.

“Slade Wilson?” Oliver asks.

Barry looks back up and nods. “Yeah, he’s like my personal trainer and sometimes it seems like I’m his only student.”

The corner of Oliver’s mouth twitches. “He is pretty intense,” Oliver mumbles.

“If you asked him,” Barry continues, “he’d say I’m worse than he is.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

Barry lowers his head, thinking about the day before. He’d pushed too hard, he knows, but he couldn’t stop. If he stopped…

“So, when’s your next practice?” Oliver interrupts his thoughts.

“Tomorrow,” Barry answers. “Today is my Wilson-mandated day off.”

Their food arrives then, and Oliver’s eyes widen at the sight of Barry’s two trays overflowing with food. Barry smirks and grabs a handful of fries.

“Because of the running and my unfortunate genetics,” Barry explains, “my metabolism is ridiculous. If I don’t eat enough, I could go into serious hypoglycemic shock. Ended up in the hospital a couple times.”

Oliver opens his mouth then closes it again, shaking his head before grabbing his burger.

They eat in silence, Oliver eats slowly, seeming to savor each bite, while Barry shovels through all his food. Barry glances at Oliver occasionally, mostly to stare at the strong scruffy jawline or bright blue eyes. He’s trying to keep himself under control, but his leg starts bouncing and the table shivers with the energy.

Oliver glances up. “You alright there?”

Barry swallows. “Yeah, totally. Perfectly fine.”

Oliver’s eyebrow raises, and Barry feels heat pool in his groin. The bouncing intensifies.

Oliver sighs. “Alright, go ahead. Ask me.”

Barry takes a gulp of soda. “What do you mean?”

“You obviously want to ask Oliver Queen something, so just get it over with.”

The bouncing stops, and Barry ducks his head to hide his blush.

“I, uh…”

He looks up into those intense eyes.

“I guess I was just curious about how the Oliver Queen ended up in MU’s art program.”

Oliver looks down at his empty tray.

“To get away,” he says.

Barry waits but Oliver doesn’t elaborate. Barry shoves the last of his food into his mouth and picks up his trays.

“If you want, you can come over to my apartment,” Barry offers, standing up. “Maybe my roommates can inspire you somehow.”

Oliver looks up at him, squinting at his face. Barry grabs Oliver’s tray and moves to the trash cans.

He turns back to see Oliver behind him, holding his bag. Barry smiles and takes it. The leave and walk to the parking lot.

“Where do you live?” Oliver asks, stepping up to a sleek motorcycle.

Barry stares at the vehicle. Oliver wasn’t the stereotypical artist.

“Barry,” Oliver says, snapping his fingers in Barry’s face.

Barry jumps a little. “Oh, it’s just a couple blocks. I walk back and forth every day. We don’t need to go to all the trouble of wasting gas.”

Oliver pushes a helmet into his arms and starts the bike. Barry sheepishly puts the helmet on and scrambles onto the back seat. He hesitates a moment, not sure where he should put his hands.

Oliver looks over his shoulder. “Where do you live?”

Barry recites his address and Oliver pushes off. Barry instinctively wraps his arms around Oliver’s chest, not accustomed to riding on motorcycles. Oliver weaves through the parking lot, expertly merging the motorcycle into traffic.

Barry awareness of Oliver becomes heightened; the smell of leather, paint, and a faint cologne, the hard muscles in his core, his broad back pressed against Barry. He barely notices the wind as they glide through traffic or sounds of cars putting along beside them.

All he can sense are the rumbling machine beneath him and man pressed against him.

The ride is over too soon, and Barry extricates himself from the bike, body still vibrating from it.

Stashing the helmets in the compartment, Barry leads him into the building.

“So, you like doing landscapes, huh?” Barry asks. He opens the building’s door and leads Oliver to the stairs. He hears a huff that interprets as an affirmation. “Any reason why?”

No response. Barry turns to look down at Oliver who is scowling up at him. Barry snaps his forward and hurriedly tries to think of a response.

“I’d probably just do landscapes too,” he rambles. “I feel like working with people would be difficult, especially for full body things.”

He freezes at the top of the stairs, turning to look back at Oliver. “We’re not gonna have to do a nude portrait, right?”

Barry swears he hears Oliver growl.

“No,” Oliver answers through gritted teeth.

Barry nods quickly and steps into the hallway. He hurries to his apartment and shoves the key into the lock, getting it open.

They step into the cozy living room, and Barry becomes aware of all the homework, wires, partial robot parts, and various foods scattered in the area. Cisco and Ronnie sit on the couch, focused on the round of Mario Kart they were playing.

“Don’t you dare, Ronnie,” Cisco shouts as Ronnie shoots a banana peel at him.

“Take that, dude,” Ronnie celebrates, accelerating past Cisco’s spinning vehicle.

Barry gives Oliver a sheepish smile. Oliver looked around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he took it all in.

“This is where I live,” Barry gestures, shutting the door and moving to his bedroom.

Cisco and Ronnie wave, not looking away from the screen. Barry tosses his stuff in his room and moves back to where Oliver is still standing, now focused on the other men.

Ronnie jumps up in victory and triumphant music plays from the screen. Cisco groans and flops back onto the couch. Ronnie does a little dance that consists of wiggling his whole body in a circle. He turns and sees Oliver and stops, mouth dropping.

“Oh my god,” Ronnie mumbles, slapping Cisco on the shoulder, who tries to fight it off before he turns and sees the newcomer.

“Oliver Queen?” Cisco asks, squinting. Oliver squints back.

Barry steps forward. “Yeah, guys, this is Oliver. We met earlier, and I invited him to hang out with us. Oliver, these are my roommates, Ronnie Raymond and Cisco Ramone. They’re both Engineering majors with an emphasis in Robotics.”

Silence fills the room as everyone just stares at each other. Barry sighs then moves to the little kitchen area, taking a Powerade from the fridge. He hears Ronnie greet Oliver and some shuffling feet. He turns to see Oliver taking a seat at the small dining table.

Barry watches as Oliver pulls a sketch pad and pencils from his bag. He looks around the room again before looking down and begins drawing.

Barry moves to the couch area. He gives Oliver a look that he hopes says,  _ let me know if you need anything _ . Oliver gives him a nod then continues drawing. Barry turns to the screen.

“So, who wants to get their asses whooped by the master?”

They dissolve into childish banter and not-so-childish swearing as they play more rounds of the racing game. Barry keeps an eye on Oliver, sometimes catching his eye and giving him a smile before turning back to the game.

After the fifth round of Mario Kart, Ronnie and Cisco concede to Barry and shut down the game. They both grab their bags and leave their afternoon classes. Oliver starts packing up his stuff as well.

Barry stands near him, watching. “Did you get a lot done?”

Oliver stands and stares at Barry, eyes moving up and down along his face and body. He nods and steps to the door.

Barry opens it. “I have practice all afternoon tomorrow so if you wanna stop by the Luthor stadium, I’ll be there until like 5.”

Oliver nods again and steps into the hallway. Barry closes the door, but not before he hears a quiet, “Thank you.”

Barry smiles as the door clicks shut. He pulls his phone out and enters Iris’ name. He flops onto the couch as it rings.

“Hey, Bear,” Iris greets.

“Hey. You’ll never guess who I met and hung out with today.”

~

Oliver can’t believe it. He’d sat at a little table in a disorganized crowded living room while three adult men played Mario Kart, and somehow, he’d felt the spark. He’d drawn the scene before him: the couch and the armchair, the backs of three heads, a glowing tv showing the race, piles of electronics and metal.

The lines and the shapes had come easily. Shading, lighting, textures, he’d felt the need to catch the moment. And he did.

He feels the weight of the sketchbook in his bag as he rides the elevator up. He’d drawn something that wasn’t a landscape. He hasn’t done that in years, but now…

He opens his door and steps in. The room is flooded with sunlight. Perfect.

He pulls out his sketchbook and sets up a canvas on the easel. He grabs his paints and brushes, sets the sketchbook on a stand, grabs his pencil and starts tracing.

He spends most of the afternoon reworking the sketch onto the canvas and putting the first layers of paint in their places, making it less distinct than the sketch but still containing the energy. The light deepens, and his eyes start to hurt. He sets the new painting aside and gets water from the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his vibrating body.

He’s riding high on inspiration and he doesn’t want it to stop. He closes his eyes and tries to find something to focus on. The first thing he thinks of is Barry.

Barry Allen.

A track star with the legs to prove it.

Lean and long, but if the arms around Oliver’s waist earlier proved anything, he has strength and muscles.

Kind. Bright eyes, shining smile, and a soft voice that all take Oliver’s breath away, making him feel loved, cared about.

Barry Allen.

Oliver opens his eyes. The vibrating has calmed but he still feels the urge to create. He glances at the new painting. It’s finished as is. No need for more. He thinks back, imagining green eyes, fair skin, soft brown hair. He grabs a new canvas and sets it up on the easel, picking up his pencil and begins to sketch the portrait.


	3. We Were Alive, Our Blood was Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party leads to an unexpected conclusion.

Barry warms up by the bleachers, rolling his shoulders, stretching his legs. The afternoon was already warm, and he feels sweat starting to form on his neck.

“Alright, kid,” Coach Wilson says, standing to the side. “Take it easy today. Nothing longer than two laps. Got it?”

“Yeah coach,” Barry says. He knows before the day ends he’ll have done two laps dozens of times.

He takes his spot in the lineup, at the end next to Jesse Wells, or Jesse Quick as the team had dubbed her. She’s rolling through her feet when he stands next to her. She looks him up and down.

“Got someone to impress today, Allen?” she asks.

Barry looks down at his white tank top and admittedly short running shorts. He tries to play it off without answering, but the smirk on her face tells him he’s failing.

“Just knew it was gonna be a hot day,” he says, lunging forward to keep stretching.

“Uh huh,” she mumbles but doesn’t comment further.

“One lap,” Coach calls. “Starting positions.” The runners take their place. Barry bends down to his lunge. He takes a deep breath and focuses on his breathing, getting oxygen to his muscles.

“Ready,” Coach calls before blowing his whistle.

Barry bursts forward, reaching his long legs out. He pulls ahead with Jesse trying to keep up just behind him. He’s on the outside lane, meaning he has the farthest to run. He curves and sees Jesse in the corner of his eye. He takes a deep inhale and pushes forward, gaining an extra yard ahead of her.

He finishes the first curve and keeps his focus ahead to where the next curve starts. Little milestones to keep him focused and motivated to keep going. Not to collapse. Not to let his heavy breathing stop him. Not to let the heat wear him out. Not to let his muscles give out and stop him from getting there. Not to stop him from getting there in time.

_ Barry! _

He pushes down the memory. The first curve is coming up, just like the corner of Kelling Avenue and Birch Street.

_ Barry, run! _

He keeps his eyes forward along the curve, feeling the force of his speed try to make him fall like all those years ago.

_ Barry, please! _

Sweat pools on his eyelids. He blinks it away, keeping his gaze on the track. The second curve finished. Now the finish.

He hears panting behind him. Jesse putting in the last burst of energy. He doesn’t care really, too focused on the end line.

Inhale.

Smacking of steps on the track.

Exhale.

One yard.

He crosses the line.

He shuffles to a stop, leaning over to take a deep breath. He hears Jesse near him also gasping for breath. Footsteps come closer as the rest of the runners finish the lap.

“Good warm up,” Coach calls, and everyone but Barry groans. They all get water and catch their breaths before they prepare for the next round.

“Is that Oliver Queen?” Jesse asks him, pointing up to the bleachers.

Barry looks up. Oliver is there, hunched over a sketchbook, hand furiously drawing. He looks up and catches Barry’s eye. They share a small smile before Oliver looks down again.

“Oh,” Jesse says, catching Barry’s attention. She has a knowing smirk and her eyebrow is raised.

“What?” Barry asks.

“Nothing important,” she answers with a shrug. “I just understand the shorts now.”

She walks away to fill up her bottle and Barry glances back down to his shorts.

Right. He’d put them on. Because Oliver was coming. Oliver is here, watching him run, in the short shorts that show off his long legs. Oliver was drawing something, possibly Barry in the shorts.

Barry chugs the rest of his water and takes in a deep breath.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

They run laps until the rest of the team has to leave for classes. Barry takes a break by the bleachers, knowing Coach Wilson is watching him to make sure he doesn’t just start sprinting for another hour.

Steps on the metal bleachers draw his attention up. Oliver walks toward him. The sketchbook is tucked under his arm. He looks calm, no longer panicked or even grumpy.

“Hey,” Barry greets.

“Hi,” Oliver says, leaning on the railing above Barry. “You’re pretty good.”

“Thanks,” Barry says, grabbing his foot to stretch his leg. “I’ve been running since middle school. Coach says I could go pro.”

“With him, you could go to the Olympics,” Oliver chuckles.

“He’s definitely trying,” Barry laughs, switching legs.

They fall silent and Barry keeps stretching, waiting for Coach to call him over to start running again.

“Hey.” Oliver holds his phone out to Barry who grabs it. “I realized this morning that I should probably have your number.”

Barry nods and enters his number, handing it back.

“If it isn’t Oliver Queen,” Coach’s voice comes closer.

“Slade Wilson,” Oliver greets with a small smile. “Still yelling at college students, I see.”

“I’m the best at it,” Coach says. “Just ask Allen, here.” He reaches a hand up and Oliver shakes it.

“It’s good to see you,” Oliver says.

“You too, kid,” Coach replies, a little softer than Barry had ever heard him.

Then the coach turns to Barry and points over his shoulder to the track. “No more than two laps at a time.”

“Yes, sir,” Barry responds. He jogs over to the track, taking a couple jumps to make sure his ankles and knees were still warm. He looks over and sees the two men still talking amicably. Barry stares at Oliver’s small smile, showing a hint of his pristine white teeth. His heart flutters and he can’t help but smile as well.

He gets in position, shifting his focus to the track again. Then he takes off. His attention on his breathing and his feet on the track. He figures he could get at least three laps in before Coach notices.

He does and he’s halfway through his fourth when it happens.

_ Run, Barry! Run! _

Somehow his right foot gets caught on his left ankle and suddenly he is rolling on the asphalt, hands, and knees stinging. He lands on his back, looking up at the sky and the impact everywhere.

“Kid!” Coach Wilson calls across the track.

Barry catches his breath and groans. The sting on his hands and feet is also on his face, and his forearms seemed to throb lightly. He closes his eyes and rolls to his side. His shoulder hurts as he puts weight on it.

Great. What hadn’t he landed on?

Footsteps get closer and he tilts his head to see Coach Wilson running up to him with Oliver not far behind.

“What happened, kid?” Coach asks kneeling beside him and carefully placing his hand on Barry’s arm.

“Tripped,” Barry coughs out. He pushes up and his head feels like it’s spinning. He groans and closes his eyes. A hand rests on his back

“Take it easy, kid,” Coach says. “Get him to the locker room. I’m gonna call the medic.”

The hand on his back changes and someone runs away.

“I’ve got you, Barry,” Oliver whispers in his ear, making Barry shiver.

The hand on his back moves to wrap around and he feels an arm tuck under his knees.

“Can you hold onto me?” Oliver asks. Barry gingerly moves an arm to wrap around Oliver’s shoulders. Slowly he’s lifted off the ground and they begin walking. Barry rests his head against Oliver, trying to focus on the swaying motion and not the growing pain in his body.

“You’re going to be fine,” Oliver says, and Barry can feel the vibration of his talking. “A little bruised but totally fine.

The heat of the sun is replaced with blasting air conditioning and Barry opens his eyes. The fluorescent lights are harsh but bearable. He lifts his head and looks at Oliver. His face looks made of stone; hard, resolute and unmoving.

“I think I can walk,” Barry croaks. Oliver looks at him and stops walking. His eyes narrow a bit before he nods. He carefully lets Barry down to his feet, though he keeps an arm around his back, offering support.

“I’m okay, Oliver,” Barry quietly insists. “Just a little sore.”

Oliver loosens his grip but keeps a hand on Barry’s back. They walk down the hall to the locker room. Barry takes a seat on a bench, bending over his knees.

“Ouch,” he mumbles then starts laughing. He looks up and sees Oliver staring at him, arms crossed, and eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s so funny?” Oliver asks.

“It hurts more than I thought tripping would,” Barry answers chuckling under his breath.

Coach Wilson and the medic walk in. She kneels next to Barry and starts looking over him.

The worst she can find is the scrapes on his hands, knees, and face which she cleans and dresses.

“You should be able to take those off tomorrow,” she explains, cleaning up. “They’re more a precaution than necessary.”

“Thanks,” Barry says smiling. She smiles back and leaves.

Barry looks up to Oliver and Coach Wilson who both look significantly less tense than they did before.

“I’m okay,” Barry insists. He stands slowly.

“I know,” Coach says, “but I’m still sending you home, kid. No need to keep running today.”

“Probably smart,” Barry says. He walks to his locker and grabs his change of clothes.

“I can take you home,” Oliver offers.

Barry looks up and sees the calm face again. He smiles. “Okay. Just give me a sec.”

Oliver nods and leaves, mumbling something about his bag. Barry tries to change quickly, but his sore limbs make it difficult. He gets his pants changed and is working his shirt on when Oliver comes back.

Barry sees him out of the corner of his eye. Oliver stops in his tracks and stares at Barry. Barry’s holding his shirt in front of him. He turns to look at Oliver directly.

Oliver’s eyes rake up and down his body and Barry feels himself blush. Oliver looks him in the eye and Barry swears the gaze looks hungry. Then the calm look returns, and Oliver turns his face away. Barry turns to face the lockers and slips his shirt on. He grabs his bag and shuts the locker.

“All good,” he says, turning back to Oliver. Oliver looks at him and nods.

They leave the locker room and walk down the hall.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your catch up with Coach Wilson,” Barry says, looking over to Oliver.

“It’s no problem,” Oliver assures. “It was just nice to talk to him. He helped me when I was in a bad place, so it was more of a check in.”

Barry watches his face. Either Oliver had perfected a calm facade, or he really is comfortable mentioning a time when he wasn’t okay.

They exit the building and Oliver leads him to his motorcycle. Barry’s stomach flutters, remembering the ride yesterday. Oliver hands him a helmet and gets on. Barry gets his leg over and settles in, snapping the helmet on.

He wraps his arms around Oliver’s stomach without hesitation, and he swears he feels Oliver’s breath hitch but then they’re racing out of the parking lot.

He likes this. This is only the second time he’s done this, but Barry likes sitting on the motorcycle and holding Oliver in his arms. His head spins with the thought, and he hopes it’s not because of his fall.

The pull up to Barry’s building and Barry clambers off the bike. He gives Oliver the helmut, hoping he isn’t blushing.

“You can come up,” Barry offers, trying to make it sound as casual as possible. Oliver gives him a look he can’t really interpret, then shakes his head.

“I need to paint before I lose the light,” he says.

Barry nods and gives him a tight smile.

“See ya,” he says and turns to walk up the steps. He hears the motorcycle roar and drive away.

~

Oliver can’t get it out of his head. His fingers itch with the need to draw it, paint it, get it out of his head and preserve it on canvas.

He weaves through traffic. He reaches his loft in record time, racing up the stairs, and bursting into his apartment. He throws his stuff on the bed and grabs an empty canvas.

He’d never really liked painting the human form, but now he’s seen one he likes, and he needs to paint it.

He places the canvas like a portrait, grabs his pencil and starts drawing the outlines. He can already see the final product: a long, lean torso with softly defined muscles, the face obscure, pants that ride low on bony hips.

He uses up the rest of the afternoon completing it. As the last rays of sunset fill the room, he looks at the completed body and partial background. He likes it. It’s probably one of his best pieces.

It’s not a landscape.

Sure, he’d completed the portrait last night, but this isn’t a portrait. This is a human body. A beautiful human body. A human body Oliver can’t get out of his head.

What is going on? He met Barry only yesterday, now he’s thinking about the man’s body. He’s painted it, but he wants more.

He shuts his eyes, but that only makes the image clearer in his head. Pale skin with shadowed abs, corded muscles under a bright smile, the bony hips accentuating a v-line.

Oliver pushes off the stool and stomps to the bathroom, stripping along the way.

He turns on the cold water, resisting the urge to reach down and stroke his cock. He stands under the water, his breaths short from the cold. He focuses on the cold, feeling the water run down his body.

Cold water. Ice blue. Long thin brush strokes. Flick a darker blue for texture and accent.

It helps calm him down. He turns off the water and steps out, dripping water on the wood floor. He dries off and walks out. The light had faded, and his apartment was dark. He grabs the painting and places it aside to dry, not looking at it.

He makes himself dinner, eats, and lays on his bed. He grabs his phone and presses the new name. He types out a message.

_ This is Oliver. How are you feeling? _

It isn’t long for a reply to come.

_ Hey! I’m all good. Bruises are gonna be nasty but nothing bad. _

Oliver smiles. Another message comes through.

_ Hey, so we just got invited to a party at the Sigma Nu house. I figured it’d be a good place for an artist who needs new environments. _

A party. Oliver hasn’t been to one since he left Star City. A lot of them are hazy flashes of lights, booze, music, tits, and cocks. He hates those fractured memories, reminders of who he was. Reminders of…

His phone buzzes and he sees the new message.

_ If you’re not comfortable with it, we can hang out instead. _

Barry. Oliver imagines going to a party with him.

Barry seems like the type of person who wouldn’t drink, or at least not a lot. He’d rather get drunk on the experience. He’d pull Oliver onto a dance floor and show him that he could have fun sober. He could relax and not think about the past or the future. Just live in the moment.

He types a reply.

_ Party sounds fun. Want me to pick you up? _

The reply comes quick.

_ Sounds perfect :) _

Oliver smiles. He puts his phone aside and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. He lets his mind wander, thinking of dancing with Barry.

Purple lights making his face glow. Sweat trickles down his face. His hair flat and flopping around his face. His eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. His body moves with the music, his t-shirt sticks to his torso outlining his pecs and his abs. Skinny jeans tight on his long thick legs.

Oliver doesn’t fight it this time. His hand grips his hardening cock. He starts slow and light. He imagines himself pressed up against Barry’s back, rolling his hips and tight pants against Barry’s ass. His thumbs press on his slit and he picks up speed.

He breathes on Barry’s exposed neck and licks the sweat pooling there. Barry brings Oliver’s hand to his crotch, letting him feel how hard he is. Oliver tightens his grip on his own cock, stroking faster, feeling the precum spurt out.

“Barry,” he breathes. Barry unbuttons his jeans and guides Oliver hand under his boxers.

Heat coils and Oliver moans as he comes onto his stomach. He lets go and slide his hands up his chest, picking up some of the cum and lifting it to his mouth.

After the high wears off, he wipes his face.

He should know better. Fantasy and hopes are always better than reality. That’s why he makes art. He shouldn’t go. He shouldn’t get his hopes up for someone he’s only known for two days.

He reaches for his phone but stops when he sees the portrait.

The eyes look straight through him, telling him what to do.

He smiles and rolls to his back.

A party then.

~

“So, it’s a date then?” Iris asks from the video call. Barry tosses another shirt across the room.

“I mean, it could be,” Barry says, grabbing a blue shirt and holding it up and shows the phone.

Iris’ face pinches and she shakes her head. Barry tosses it away and looks for another.

“Wear your red shirt,” she suggests. “Unless you don’t want to get laid, then wear your green one.”

Barry freezes. Does he want to get laid? Does he want to sleep with Oliver tonight? He looks at the two shirts debating what he wants. He sighs and pulls the red shirt off the hanger and slips it on. The shirt was tight on him, possibly a size small, but Iris and Linda insist it makes him look good and would totally get him laid.

It had worked before so why not now?

“I thought so,” Iris says.

Barry turns and sees her smug face.

“Shut up,” he says.

Iris turns to look off-camera.

“Babe! He’s wearing the red shirt!”

Linda’s voice comes through. “I fucking knew it!”

Barry sighs and Iris laughs. He looks in the mirror. He does look good if a little desperate and thirsty.

“Am I overthinking this?” he asks. He picks up his phone and sits on his bed. “Like, what if he doesn’t want this to be a date? What if he’s coming along for purely artistic need? What if he doesn’t think of me like that? What if I’m just an annoying fly that won’t leave him alone?”

“Barry, calm down,” Iris says.

He looks around his messy room with wide eyes. Rejected clothes scattered everywhere. Was he overthinking this?

“Barry, look at me,” Iris commands.

He does.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’re nervous ‘cause you’re putting yourself out there for a ridiculously hot guy. You met him, what, three days ago? It’s gonna be okay. And if nothing happens, nothing happens.”

Barry takes a deep breath. She’s right. He doesn’t really know Oliver and all the attraction Barry feels is purely aesthetic. Oliver is probably the hottest guy he’s ever met, and Barry really wants to see everything he has to offer.

But in the short time they’d known each other, Barry can tell that Oliver is closed off and doesn’t open himself to people easily. Barry understands it. The desire to hold back and hide what could be considered ugly.

“You’re right,” he says, smiling at her.

She smiles back. “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she teases. “Now go and get you a piece of that man.”

Barry laughs and hangs up the phone. He walks out to the living room. Cisco is drinking a beer and Ronnie tinkering on the robot they were both working on. Cisco looks Barry up and down and nods.

“Someone wants to get laid,” he announces.

Ronnie looks up and sees what Barry’s wearing. He chuckles and looks back at the machine.

“So, when are we headed over?” Cisco asks, taking another swig.

“You guys can go whenever,” Barry says. “Oliver’s gonna pick me up.”

Both of their heads snap up to look at him.

“What?” Ronnie asks.

Barry feels his cheeks blush. “Oliver’s taking me over. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Cisco asks, rounding the counter to step in front of Barry. “No big deal when you’re wearing your ‘please fuck me’ shirt?”

“No big deal when Caitlin and Cindy have been gushing about him non-stop for two days?” Ronnie adds.

“No big deal when I definitely heard you moan his name last night while you were definitely rubbing one out?” Cisco bluntly adds.

“Okay, you’re right,” Barry quickly intercepts, feeling his blush get warmer. “It’s a big deal for me. I just don’t know if it is for him.”

Cisco’s grin softens a little. “Dude, you’re hot. Why wouldn’t he want to sleep with you?”

“‘Cause he’s Oliver Queen,” Barry insists.

Cisco scoffs and chugs the rest of his beer.

“And you’re Barry Allen,” Ronnie says, not looking up. “So, what?”

Barry sighs and shakes his head. “You guys have been in relationships for years. You just don’t understand.”

“How do you think we got in those relationships, man?” Cisco takes a seat next to Ronnie watching him. “You think I was ever in Cindy’s league?”

Before Barry can respond, there’s a knock on the door. Barry’s breath hitches. He smooths down his shirt and quickly moves to open the door. Ronnie and Cisco snicker behind him.

Barry opens the door.

Oliver stands on the other side wearing blue jeans, a white V-neck, and a leather jacket. Barry stares. He could add that image to the fantasy now.

Oliver clears his throat and ducks his head. “You look good,” he says.

“You too,” Barry replies, staring at the v of the shirt and wishing it was lower.

Oliver looks up and smiles. “Thanks. Should we get going?”

“Yeah.” Barry turns back and waves at the other two. “See ya guys there.”

“Don’t leave early,” Cisco calls as Barry closes the door.

They walk down in silence and give each other not so subtle glances. Any doubts Barry had about Oliver being attracted to him are gone.

“So, is this going to be a typical frat party?” Oliver asks while they walk down the stairs.

“Basically,” Barry answers. “They had a fundraiser for the Counseling Center and they exceeded their goal. This is a kind of thank you to everyone who helped.”

“You helped?” Oliver pushes the front door open and they step outside. It’s dark out and the nightlife is as busy as ever.

“The whole track team did,” Barry explains stepping up to the motorcycle. “They did a relay race with us and all the proceeds went to the fundraiser.”

Oliver hands him the helmet and gets on the bike.

He gives Barry a once-over before he smirks. “I’d pay money to see you run.”

Barry puts on the helmet and prays it hides his blush. He sits behind Oliver and wraps his arms around his chest.

And if he holds Oliver a little tighter, that’s their business.

~

Oliver almost wishes his jeans weren’t as tight as they are. The moment the door opened, Oliver had to resist the urge to take him right then and there.

The rumbling motorcycle didn’t help but at least he could adjust himself without Barry really noticing. The party is in full swing when they pull up to the big frat house. Oliver can feel the bass and can smell the sweat and sex from the sidewalk, spilling out from the open door.

“Typical frat party,” he mutters as they walk up and enter.

The entryway was lit with soft amber light, while laser lights shoot through from a dark room to the side where the music blasts from. People stand or move around, chatting, dancing, and drinking.

A dark-skinned guy notices them, and he saunters over pulling Barry into a bro hug.

“Barry Allen,” he greets.

“Jefferson Jackson,” Barry says. He turns to Oliver. “Oliver, this is Jax, head of the Sigma Nu house. Jax this is Oliver Queen.”

Oliver and Jax shake hands. “Nice to meet you, man,” Jax says. He gestures to the party. “Have fun. Drinks are in the kitchen and all the bedrooms are locked so take your business elsewhere.”

He leaves them, and they make their way to the kitchen. A couple of people stand around, drinking and enjoying the relative quiet of the kitchen. Barry grabs a couple cups and looks around the bottles.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks.

“Water’s good for me,” Oliver says, trying to make it sound nonchalant.

Barry nods and walks to the sink filling the cup and handing it to Oliver, then he makes a rum and coke and takes a swig. He leans against the counter and drinks.

Oliver lets his eyes wander. He stares at Barry's neck, watching him swallow his beer. Then he studies the shirt that barely fits his slender body, accentuating the muscle he has. Then to his legs that look even longer in the tight jeans. The only thing Oliver can’t see is the thing he wants to more than anything right now.

“So, how’s the art coming?” Barry asks, pulling Oliver from his silent reverie.

Oliver looks up into his eyes. “Fine. I’ve made more in the past couple days than I have in two weeks.”

Barry smiles excitedly. “That’s great,” he says. “Do you think you’ll have enough for the gallery?”

“At the rate I’m going?” Oliver says. “I should. I’m taking what I’ve got so far to Yao Fei on Monday. We’ll see if I’m on the right track.”

“That’s awesome,” Barry says. “Will I get to see any of them?”

“When they’re all done,” Oliver says, smirking as he takes a gulp of water.

Barry makes a pouting face and Oliver feels the urge to kiss it away. In fact, he feels the urge to just kiss him and never stop.

“Wanna dance?” spills out of his mouth. Barry looks surprised then smiles and nods. They set down their drinks and make their way to the large room where the music is pounding, and dancers were packed together. Barry grabs Oliver’s hand and pulls him into the mass.

They reach the center and Barry turns to face him. Someone pushes him, and Oliver ends up right against Barry who raises his hands to catch him. Oliver catches himself and stares into Barry’s eyes. Barry’s hands rest on his chest. Oliver places his hands on Barry’s hips.

Barry smiles and starts swaying his hips. His hands press on Oliver’s pecs and he tilts his head back. Oliver’s gaze zeroes in on the exposed flesh and he leans forward.

He kisses softly and grazes his teeth along the soft skin. Barry’s hands slide up to grab Oliver’s hair. They keep swaying to the music, grinding their hips together. Oliver laps up the sweat and Barry reaches a hand down to grab Oliver’s ass.

Oliver feels Barry speak but can’t hear what he says. He doesn’t care. He wraps an arm around Barry’s back while his other hand slips between them, playing with the button on Barry’s jeans. He feels Barry’s groan/

Oliver lifts his head to Barry’s ear. “Do you want it?”

The hand on his ass tightens as Barry breathes out, “Yes.”

Oliver smirks. He unbuttons the jeans and pulls the zipper down. His hand slides up under Barry’s shirt and feels his abs, then he slips down and under the waistline of his briefs. A bush of hair leads to a hard-leaking cock. Oliver pulls it up and it peeks out from his underwear, leaking precum onto Oliver’s hand.

Oliver strokes slowly, matching the beat of the music. They’re pressed together, and Oliver can feel Barry’s quick breaths.

“Fuck, Oliver,” Barry whispers. His hips jerk up to Oliver’s hand.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Oliver responds. The song changes and the beat picks up and Oliver speeds up to match it.

Barry’s hand lets go off Oliver’s ass, only to slip into his pants and grab it again.

“You like my ass?” Oliver asks. “You like holding it in your hand? You wanna fuck it?”

“Yes,” Barry growls.

“I want you to,” Oliver says and Barry whines. “I want your cock in my ass. I wanna feel something with you. I want you, Barry.”

Barry’s hips jerk up as he comes. Oliver holds him up and strokes him through his release. “Please, Barry,” Oliver whispers. “I need you to fuck me.”

Barry pulls Oliver’s head back and looks at him. He glances down to Oliver’s lips and that’s all Oliver needs. He crashes their lips together, tasting the rum and coke. Oliver wraps both of arms around Barry. The hand on his ass squeezes then slips to his crack brushes his hole.

Barry pulls away and looks at Oliver. His eyes are dilated and hungry.

“My place,” Barry orders. “Now.”

Oliver nods. He puts Barry back into his pants and buttons him up. He grabs Barry’s hand and pulls him out of the dancing mass back to the foyer. He notices Cisco and Ronnie sitting on the stairs with a couple of girls. Cisco looks up and raises his hand, but Oliver pulls Barry outside before they could be stopped.

Oliver’s cock is aching, but he doesn’t think about that. He and Barry get on his motorcycle and he races down the road back to Barry’s apartment. Barry wraps an arm around his stomach while his other hand grabs his crotch. It takes all of Oliver’s willpower not to swerve off the road.

“You like that?” Barry whispers in his ear. “You like me holding you while you drive your motorcycle?”

Oliver nods.

“You know,” Barry continues, “last night, I imagined you and me together. You had me draped over your motorcycle while you fucked me in the middle of the library’s parking lot. Everyone could see us, but I didn’t care. I wanted you. I needed you. Now I get to have you. And this might be even better than my fantasy, ‘cause you want me inside you.”

They’re stopped at a light and Oliver can’t hold himself together. Between Barry dirty talking in his ear, his hand on his crotch, and the vibrations of the bike, Oliver comes in his pants.

Barry chuckles in his ear. “You want me that much?”

“God, yes,” Oliver moans.

The light changes and he pushes off, weaving through the traffic. They pull up to Barry’s apartment and they almost topple the bike in their rush to get inside. Barry is typing on his phone as they stumble up the steps.

“Who are you texting?” Oliver asks, putting his back to a wall and pulling Barry into him. He leans in and sucks on Barry’s neck.

“Telling Cisco and Ronnie not to come back tonight,” Barry moans. “Wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Oliver agrees. Barry pulls him to his apartment door and quickly unlocks it. They rush inside, and Barry pushes Oliver to a door. Oliver takes off his leather jacket and Barry watches, breathless.

“You gonna make me do this all myself?’ Oliver asks, yanking off his belt.

That snaps Barry back to the moment. He strides over and grabs Oliver’s shirt, yanking it off and tossing it to the side. He pushes Oliver against the door behind him. Oliver breathes quickly under Barry’s exploring hands. His skin seems to burn wherever Barry touches.

“Are you even real?” Barry whispers, feeling Oliver’s stomach and outlining each ab. Then his hands travel back up to play with his nipples. Oliver arches his back and gasps for breath.

“Sensitive, are we?” Barry teases. His hands glide down to unbutton Oliver’s jeans.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Oliver growls, tugging at Barry’s shirt. “Not that they cover much anyway.”

“That was the point,” Barry says, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside.

He unzips Oliver’s pants and shoves them down. Oliver kicks off his shoes and Barry kneels in front of him, helping him get his pants and boxer-briefs off. Oliver watches as Barry lifts the underwear up to his nose and sniffs the cum-drenched fabric.

Oliver groans and drops his head back. He grabs his himself and tries to jerk is hardening cock, but Barry grabs both of his hands and pins them above Oliver’s head.

“No,” Barry commands.

He lets go and opens the door, making Oliver stumble back into the room. Barry shoves him onto the bed.

Oliver bounces on the soft mattress and looks up to watch Barry removes his own pants. He opens his nightstand and pulls out a condom packet and lube. Oliver resituates himself on the bed and spreads his legs wide open.

“Fuck,” Barry whispers. He crawls onto the bed and hovers over Oliver. He rolls his hips down and their cocks grind together. They both moan and Barry grinds faster. Oliver grabs at Barry’s back and tucks his legs up against Barry’s hips.

“Barry, I need you,” Oliver groans. “I need you in me right now.”

Barry drops his head against Oliver’s chest before he looks and kisses Oliver aggressively.

He pushes up and grabs the lube bottle, pouring some on his fingers. He reached down and lined his fingers with Oliver’s hole.

“Please,” Oliver whines.

Barry pushes a finger inside. Oliver gasps, his back arches and he pushes his hips down on the finger.

“Slow, Ollie,” Barry says, putting a hand on Oliver’s chest.

“You think I wasn’t prepared for this?” Oliver asks.

Barry’s eyes widen, and he stares down at Oliver. Oliver looks up with a smirk, that quickly vanishes as Barry pushes another finger in. Then another.

“Get inside me,” Oliver begs. “Now.”

Barry grabs the condom packet and opens it with his teeth. He pulls out his fingers to put it on and lube it up. Oliver rolls his hips whining on the empty feeling. He grabs his cock and tries to stroke himself.

“What did I tell you?” Barry growls. He grabs Oliver’s hands and shoves them into the bed above his head. “Do I need to tie you up?”

“Maybe next time,” Oliver teases.

Barry stares at him then groans, dropping his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Barry reaches a hand down to line his cock with Oliver’s hole. He stops and looks up Oliver’s eyes.

“Beg me,” he commands. “Beg me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” Oliver begs without hesitation. “Fuck me good and hard. Fuck me so I won’t be able to sit or even walk properly. Fuck me, Barry. Fuck me.”

Barry growls and snaps his hips, pushing all the way in. Oliver hisses then sighs. Barry grabs both of his wrists again and starts snapping his hips back and forth. Oliver closes his eyes and lets his body rock with every thrust.

“You’re so tight,” Barry whispers in his ear, sending shivers down Oliver’s body. “You haven’t been fucked in a while, have you?”

“No,” Oliver breathes out.

“And here you are,” Barry continues, “open and pliant under me. Begging for my cock. Does it feel good? Does my long cock fill you up like you want?”

“Yes,” Oliver moans.

A mouth sucks his nipple and he gasps, pushing up into the mouth.

“So needy,” Barry chuckles. “So sensitive. No wonder you needed me.”

He moves to the other nipple and Oliver whines and whimpers. Barry’s sliding cock fills him and brushes against a spot he’d forgotten existed. Barry’s mouth moves from his nipple to his collarbone, biting and sucking hard.

Oliver tries to move his arms, but they’re stopped by Barry’s impressively strong grip. He opens his eyes and looks up. Barry lifts his head and looks him in the eyes. Moonlight streaming in from a window illuminates Barry’s pale skin. Oliver commits it to memory so that tomorrow he could paint it.

“I needed you, too,” Barry whispers. “More than even I realized.”

He pushed in harder. The slapping of skin and the force of the cock pushing inside him makes Oliver moan. His stomach tightens, and heat builds up in his groin.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans. “Tell me to come.”

Barry leans in to whisper in Oliver’s ear.

“Come, Ollie. Come.”

Oliver sees bright colors as he comes untouched. He feels his release spatter his chest. Barry’s hips speed up as he races to his own climax.

“You should see your face,” Barry groans. “It’s so beautiful.”

Then he comes. His hips chase the release and he breathes heavily in Oliver’s ear. He slows and pulls out, letting go of Oliver’s wrists.

Oliver whines at the empty and unrestrained feeling. He watches Barry pull off the condom and drops it in a wastebasket. His lithe body glowing in the moonlight, accentuating the muscles in his legs, the strength of his back, the shape of his ass. Oliver commits it to memory as well.

Barry turns and saunters back to the bed, his soft cock swinging with each step. His smile stretching and making Oliver’s heart stutter. He’s the most beautiful person Oliver’s ever seen.

Barry climbs in bed and turns to be the little spoon.

Oliver drapes his arm and places a hand on Barry’s stomach.

They lay in silence and Barry’s breath slowly becomes even.

Oliver carefully pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed.

It was amazing. It was perfect. Oliver has his muse and his motivation is back. Oliver found someone that makes him feel alive and gives Oliver hope for the future.

But what if there isn’t a future? What if Barry sees the ugly parts of him and runs away? What if he hurts Barry?

This was a mistake.

Oliver quietly slips out of the bedroom and grabs his clothes. He dresses and hurries out of the apartment.


	4. This Wild Heart Won't Pull It's Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some paint and a ring.

Two days.  
It’s been two days since Barry had woken up alone to a cold bed. It’s been two days of going straight to voicemail and being left on read. Two days of Cisco and Ronnie trying to get him to forget about it. Two days of Iris being the supportive friend and offering to drive to Metropolis for him.   
Two days and Barry is now standing outside of the art building at 8 in the morning waiting for Oliver to walk in.  
Oliver, ever surprising, walks out instead and Barry scrambles to stop him.  
“Oliver,” Barry calls.   
Oliver tenses and turns around. He looks down at his shoes. Barry steps in front of him.  
“Hey,” Barry says. “How’ve you been?”  
“Fine,” Oliver says. “You?”  
“A little confused,” Barry replies. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. Were you okay?”  
“I was fine,” Oliver says through gritted teeth. “I’ve been painting all weekend.”  
“Okay,” Barry concedes. “Do you wanna maybe get lunch later?”  
“No,” Oliver says and turns to walk away.  
Barry stands for a moment, watching him with his mouth open. Then he runs up to him getting in his way.  
“Hold up,” Barry says. “What is going on here?”  
Oliver sighs. “Nothing. I just don’t want to make this a big deal.”  
“A big deal? A big deal like me fucking you in my bed Friday night?”  
Oliver’s head snaps up to look around them. No one was close enough to hear them and Barry just keeps going.  
“I don’t know what’s going on, but Friday night was probably the best night of my college life.”  
Oliver tries to sidestep him, but Barry gets in his way.  
“And if the moaning and begging was any indication, it was a good night for you too, so I’m gonna ask again: What’s going on here?”  
“Can we talk about this later?” Oliver hisses through gritted teeth.  
“Sure,” Barry says. “Maybe if you replied to my texts, we can figure out when would be a good time.”  
Oliver sighs and rubs his forehead. “Okay. I deserved that.”  
“Yeah,” Barry says. “So why don’t you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all weekend?”  
Oliver looks down at his feet. Barry watches him, waiting patiently.   
“It was good,” Oliver mutters. He raises his head to look him in the eye. “It was amazing. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for a guy to do that to me.”  
“So, what’s the problem?” Barry asks softly.  
“I freaked out because it was so amazing,” Oliver explains. “I’m always in control, so giving it up like that was incredible and frightening and I got inside my head and that’s never a good thing.”  
Oliver looks on the verge of tears. He clears his throat.  
“I didn’t want to burden you with my insecurities, so I left,” Oliver whispers. “I’m sorry.”  
Barry lifts a hand to Oliver’s face. He felt his jaw flex under his fingers and took a step closer.  
“I get it,” Barry replies. “I understand. You have things you’re scared to share with people and giving up that control made you worried I would see the things you want to hide. I get that it freaks you out.”  
Oliver sighs and tilts his head into Barry’s hand.   
“But I want you to know something,” Barry says. Oliver opens his eyes to look at him. “I want to try this. I want to get to know each other and maybe we can get to a point where we’re comfortable sharing those things with each other.”  
Oliver breath catches but Barry strokes his cheeks with his thumb. “When you’re ready,” Barry insists.   
Oliver relaxes and smiles. “Okay,” he whispers. Then he looks down at Barry’s lips and leans in.  
Barry meets him halfway and melts into the kiss. It’s sweet and slow and Barry loves it.  
They forget the world around them and stay in their moment.  
The part and lean against each other’s foreheads.  
“So,” Barry says. “Wanna come over tonight?”  
Oliver chuckles and gives him a quick peck. “Definitely.”  
~  
Oliver stands in the art studio on campus, waiting for her to arrive. It’s been a week since Barry and he had started dating and their time together had only inspired Oliver more and more each day.   
So much so that he’s standing in the art studio, waiting to start something he never does.   
The door opens and Shado walks in. She stops when she sees him and smiles.  
“Oliver,” she greets. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be upstairs?”  
“Nice to see you too,” Oliver says, walking up and hugging her.   
“Of course, it is.” Shado hugs him back then pulls away, moving to where a partially finished statue stands. “Now why are you here?”  
Well,” Oliver tucks his hands into his pockets, “I have an idea for a piece and I need your expertise to get started.”   
She squints at him. “Is this for that MOA gallery?”  
“Yeah,” Oliver says, “and for someone special.”  
She studies him.  
“Okay,” she says. “What did you have in mind?”  
~  
 _Run, Barry! Run!_  
Barry crosses the finish line and he shuffles to a stop. Jesse rushes past him and puts her hands above her head to catch her breath.  
“I’ll get you, one of these days, Allen,” she gasps between breaths.   
“Or I’ll let you win,” Barry teases moving to grab his water.   
Jesse follows him. “Nuh-uh. I’ll beat you fair and square.”  
“I’m sure you will,” Barry says. He chugs the cold water and catches his breath. The rest of the team joins them as Coach Wilson talks to Jake about his form.  
“So,” Jesse starts, “how’s Oliver?”  
Barry smiles immediately. They’d been dating for a month and it’s the best relationship he’s been in since Iris. Barry would go to Oliver’s place when he was in the middle of a major painting and just be a comforting presence. Other days, they would hang out with Cisco, Ronnie, Caitlin, and Cynthia. Every time they were together, Barry would forget the ghosts in his head, and he heard them less when he ran.  
“Oliver’s great,” he finally answers. “The art show’s a couple months away but he’s already stressing about it. He and Yao Fei are already mapping the gallery out. He won’t let me see anything so I’m excited to see it.”  
Jesse nods and chugs more water.   
They finish practice and the team leaves. Barry stretches and gets ready to do sprints when Coach Wilson comes up to him.  
“Hit the showers, kid.”  
Barry looks up to ask why when he sees someone standing on the bleachers. Well, two someones.  
“Iris? Linda?”  
“Go get showered,” Iris calls. “I’m not hugging you like that.”  
Barry smiles and looks at Coach Wilson who nods. “Go, kid. Take the day off.”  
Barry rushes to get showered and dressed, meeting Iris and Linda in the parking lot. He runs and scoops up Iris in a spinning hug.  
“Oh my God,” he greets. “What are you guys doing here?”  
He sets her down and picks up Linda.   
“We have some time off,” Linda explains, “and we wanted to get out of Central for a little bit, so here we are.”  
“Awesome,” Barry says. “We can go out and you guys can meet Oliver.”  
“Yes,” Iris exclaims. “We need to meet your boyfriend.”  
Barry laughs and looks down at his phone. “He might still be on campus, working. Maybe we can go get him and head to dinner.”  
They drive across a campus and pull up to the art building. They’re laughing as they walk in. Iris teases him not stop about his constant blushing every time they say Oliver’s name.   
They walk in and start wandering the halls, trying to find out if Oliver’s still there. They pass a set of double doors that open as a woman steps out.  
“Excuse me,” Barry says, getting her attention.   
She looks up and her eyes widen. “Oh.”  
“Hi, we’re looking for Oliver Queen,” he says.  
“I’m sure you are,” she whispers, eyes studying him.  
His face pinches as he tries to process that, but she continues.  
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean it like that. It just, I’ve been staring at a picture of you for a month. You’re Barry, right?”  
She holds out her hand and Barry takes it.  
“I’m Shado,” she introduces, then points behind her. “Oliver’s just in here.”  
Barry smiles and steps forward but she blocks him.  
“You can’t go in,” she scrambles. “It’s a department superstition. Only art students and professors can see works before they’re finished.”  
Barry looks at her confused. He’d seen plenty of Oliver’s unfinished works. What was she hiding?  
“I’ll just go get him for you,” Shado offers and slips back inside.  
They wait in silence, Barry still trying to process the ‘superstition.’  
Oliver walks out a few moments later, wiping his hands with a towel. He smiles and greets Barry with a kiss on his cheek. Barry smiles back and grabs Oliver’s hand.  
“Hey,” Oliver whispers. “What are you doing here?”  
“Oliver,” Barry starts, pointing to the two women. “I’d like you to meet Iris and Linda.”  
Oliver smiles and shakes their hands.   
“It’s nice to finally meet you both,” he says. “Barry is always talking about you two.”  
“And he is always talking about you,” Iris assures.  
“We’re heading out to get ready for dinner,” Barry says. “We were hoping you’d join us.”  
“Of course,” Oliver says, kissing Barry’s cheek again. “Let me just grab my stuff. I’ll meet you outside.”  
They head out and wait for Oliver to come out.  
“So where are you taking us?” Linda asks Barry, wrapping her arm around Iris.  
“Well that depends on what you’re in the mood for?” he asks.   
He notices Iris bite her lip. “Somewhere classy,” she suggests. “We’ve haven’t been somewhere fancy for a while.”  
Barry thinks. The doors open behind him and he turns to see Oliver walking out.  
“Hey, Ollie,” he calls. “They wanna go somewhere fancy for dinner. You got any ideas?”  
“ _Eobard’s_ ,” Oliver answers. “I can get us a private room.”  
“Perfect,” Iris exclaims. “We’ll go get ready and meet you guys there?”  
“Sure,” Barry says. “I’ll text you the details.”  
“See you then,” Linda says. They get in the car and drive off.  
Barry turns to Oliver. He wraps his arms around Oliver’s waist and pulls him in for a kiss.  
“Hey,” Oliver whispers against his mouth, cradling Barry’s face.  
“Hey,” Barry echoes, leaning in.  
They kiss slow, enjoying the feeling of being together.  
“What are you working on?” Barry asks when they part.  
“A surprise,” Oliver says, stepping away to his bike.  
“For me?” Barry probes, getting on the back seat.  
“Mhm,” Oliver answers.  
“I have a surprise for you too,” Barry whispers in his eye.  
“Oh?” Oliver starts the vehicle. “What is it?”  
“At your place,” Barry whispers and slips a hand to Oliver’s crotch.  
Oliver’s breath hitches and he revs the engine and pulls out of the parking lot quickly.   
Barry laughs and hugs Oliver the whole way. They make it back in record time and Oliver rushes Barry up to the loft.  
“You should make the reservation first,” Barry says in the elevator. He looks in his bag and double checks the supplies are in there.  
“Hi, I’d like to make a reservation,” Oliver says into his phone. “Tonight. Four. Private room.”  
He looks at Barry and mouths “What time?”  
“Eight,” he replies.  
Oliver repeats it into the phone. After a moment he says, “Oliver Queen.”  
Another moment and he thanks them and hangs up.  
Barry steps into his space and puts his hands on the wall on either side of Oliver.  
“All set,” Oliver says, grabbing Barry’s hips.  
“And we’ve got plenty of time for what I’d originally planned for today,” Barry says.  
“Oh yeah?” Oliver teases.  
The elevator opens, and they rush out and down the hall to Oliver’s loft. They stumble in and hurry to toss their bags.  
“Grab your tarp,” Barry orders as he starts stripping down to his underwear.   
Oliver moves his easel and supplies and grabs his largest tarp. He flicks it open and lays it out on the floor. Barry pulls the bottles of body paint from his bag and sets them next to the tarp. He looks up and sees Oliver watching him, gaze hungry and curious.  
Barry smirks and stands, pulling his boxers off. He kneels back down and crawls to the middle of the tarp. He lays on his back and stretches out in the sunlight.  
“Paint me like one of your French girls, Ollie,” Barry commands in a husky voice.   
Oliver looks over his nude body then to the bottles of paint. He stands and walks around to them. Barry watches him with a smirk. Oliver crouches by the paints and deliberates for a moment before he picks up the red. He steps up to Barry and kneels by his stomach.  
“Where should I start?” Oliver muses. He hovers a hand over Barry’s stomach and Barry gasps at the almost touch. He feels his cock stir.  
“No,” Oliver whispers and moves his hand to Barry’s thigh.  
“That sounds nice,” Barry encourages.  
Oliver hums and moves his hand back up to Barry’s chest. He lays his palm on Barry’s sternum.  
“Right here,” he says. He opens the paint bottle and holds it over Barry’s chest. He squeezes paint out and Barry gasps at the cold liquid on his warm skin. His cock his hard and Barry whines.   
Oliver sets the bottle aside and dips two fingers into the puddle of paint. Barry closes his eyes and focuses on Oliver’s fingers moving on his chest. They swirl and glide all over his chest, leaving tingling paths behind them.   
He hears a bottle open and more paint pours on his stomach just above his belly button. Then the fingers swirl again over his abs and around his belly button, back up to circle his nipples. Barry wants to reach down and stroke his hard cock, but he leaves his hands behind his head.  
Another bottle opens and pours onto his thigh. Barry gasps and moans at the touch. He hears Oliver chuckle over him.  
“You like that, there?” his husky voice questions.  
“Fuck, yes,” Barry moans.   
Oliver spreads the paint down his leg and repeats on the other. Then suddenly, Oliver’s hand grabs his cock and strokes it. Barry’s back arches up and he groans at the touch.   
“You’ve been busy,” Oliver says. “We haven’t been able to do this for a little while.”  
“That’s why we’re doing this now,” Barry says, thrusting up into Oliver’s wet hand.  
“I’ve missed it,” Oliver says. Then his voice his right in Barry’s ear, “I’ve missed you in my bed.”  
Barry’s breath shudders. “I can stay over tonight.”  
“I’d like that,” Oliver whispers, then he lets go of Barry.  
Barry whines and his eyes flash open, looking for Oliver. Oliver stands over him, offering his paint covered hand.  
“Come see,” Oliver says.  
Barry takes it and stands. His hard cock swings as they make their way to the bathroom. There’s a full-length mirror in the corner and Oliver leads Barry to stand in front of it. Barry gasps when he sees the paint on his body.  
Red and blue swirl, mix, and elongate his torso, making it seem bigger and leaner at the same time. Purple covers his legs, making them appear longer. His cock is covered in the purple, hiding any skin color. The hair around it is spattered.  
He feels Oliver’s hand on his lower back, gently tracing the muscles over his ass.  
“Do you like it?” Oliver asks.  
Before Barry can answer, Oliver’s hand slips into his crack and brushes his hole. Barry tenses and his ass squeezes Oliver’s hand.  
“Ollie,” Barry gasps.   
“I think it’s some of my best work,” Oliver whispers in Barry’s ear, his finger teases Barry’s hole. “Too bad we’ll have to clean it off before dinner.”  
His finger breaches Barry’s hole and slides in easily. Barry’s eyes close and he leans back against Oliver’s clothed chest. He rolls his hips back and forth, fucking himself on Oliver’s finger.  
“Open your eyes,” Oliver says.  
Barry complies and looks at Oliver’s reflection. Oliver adds another finger and Barry thrusts down harder.   
“You’re my muse, Barry,” Oliver says. “You saved me when I was afraid I’d lost what I wanted. Turns out, I needed you.”  
The fingers slip out and Oliver turns Barry around to face him.  
“We should get you cleaned up,” Oliver says. He steps away and pulls his now paint stained shirt off. Barry stands and watches as Oliver strips and turns on the shower. He steps in and holds the curtain open. Then he grabs his cock and strokes until he’s hard.  
“You coming in?” Oliver asks with a raised eyebrow.  
Barry scrambles into the tub and latches onto Oliver.  
“Fuck me, Ollie,” Barry commands.  
Oliver grabs his ass and lifts him. Barry wraps his legs around his waist. The water sprays their heads and Barry tilts his head back to feel it on his face. Oliver adjusts them both until his cock is pressing against Barry’s hole.   
Oliver kisses Barry’s paint covered sternum and says, “You’re fucking gorgeous,” before he pushes inside.   
Barry moans and grips Oliver’s hair. Oliver thrusts up and Barry bounces with each thrust. All of Barry’s muscles work to keep him up and on Oliver’s cock. He feels water run down his body. He looks down and sees it taking the paint with it.  
“Watercolor,” Oliver jokes and Barry can’t help but laugh, the sound shudders with each thrust. The laughs turn back into moans as he focuses on the feeling of a cock sliding in his ass, brushing his spot that makes him see amazing colors.  
Oliver presses him close and kisses his neck. “You’re my Adonis,” he praises. “My great muse. My inspiration.”  
Barry pants as Oliver’s pace becomes erratic. His cock slides along their stomachs, feeling each heavy breath and defined muscles.   
“Without you, I wouldn’t be an artist,” Oliver continues. “Without you, who knows what I’d be?”  
“Ollie,” Barry moans.  
“Do you want me to come inside you?” Oliver asks. “Do you want to feel my release inside you?”  
“Yes, Ollie,” Barry growls. “Come in me. Now.”  
Oliver groans and thrusts up once more, releasing inside Barry.  
“Yes,” Barry shouts with each stream, “yes, yes, yes.”  
He comes between their wet chests, his release joining the streaming paint. They look at each other and start laughing. Barry rests his forehead against Oliver.  
“So, you liked the surprise?” he asks.   
“Very much,” Oliver replies. He pulls out and sets Barry on his feet. “Now let’s get you actually cleaned up.”  
Oliver soaps up Barry’s body and wipes off the remaining paint. They watch it run down the drain until the water is clear.  
“Watercolors,” Oliver repeats softer as if considering it.  
Barry cups his face and pulls Oliver in for a kiss. “Let’s get ready.”  
~  
Iris gets out of the car and looks up at the pristine building. Linda sidles up to her and taking her hand.  
“This is definitely a step up from Big Belly Burger,” she jokes, and Iris laughs.   
“A serious step up,” Iris agrees.   
They walk in and the hostess leads them upstairs to a small private room. Oliver and Barry are already seated. Barry’s giggling and Oliver is smiling. They look up as Iris and Linda enter. Barry waves.  
“Wondering where you guys were,” Barry says as they take their seats. “We ordered drinks. Hope you’re okay with champagne.”  
“Champagne from here?” Linda asks already looking over the menu. “I’m okay with that.”  
Iris chuckles and looks over the menu as well. She avoids looking at the prices. Everything sounds superb.   
“How can I pick?” she mutters and Barry laughs.  
“I said the same thing,” he says. “Any of their chicken dishes are incredible. Try one.”  
Iris looks at the chicken options and she relaxes. She looks over the options and decides the Rosemary Chicken sounds delicious.  
The waiter brings their champagne and takes their orders.   
“So, Oliver,” Iris starts. “How does Star City’s beloved billionaire playboy become an art student at Metropolis University?”  
“Iris,” Barry says in a warning tone, but Oliver puts his hand on Barry’s.  
“It’s fine, Barry,” he says before turning to Iris. “One day I took a hard look at myself and decided I needed to do something different. I’ve always been good at art, so I thought I should study it.”  
Iris nods in approval and takes a sip of her drink.   
“So, how did you two meet?” she asks, and their conversation flows easily from there.  
They chat and laugh until their food comes.  
They dig in and are quiet for a little bit.  
Linda looks up to Barry. “So, have you been playing recently?”  
Barry blushes and looks down to his food. “Uh, I not a lot recently.”  
Oliver looks between the two. “Play what?”  
Iris and Linda both give Barry an incredulous look. “Seriously?” Iris asks. “You haven’t played for him at all?”  
“We’ve been busy,” Barry defends himself, taking a bit of his steak.  
“Play what?” Oliver repeats.  
Linda turns to him. “Barry can play the guitar. He usually uses it to get dates, so we were surprised when it wasn’t part of your story.”  
Oliver turns to look at Barry’s blushing face.  
“I guess I’ll have to request a show at some point,” he teases.  
Iris nudges Barry’s foot with her own. He looks up and smiles at her. She smiles back.  
Linda wipes her mouth and stands. “Excuse me. Champagne goes right through me.”  
A waiter directs her out of the room. Once the door closes, Barry turns to Iris.  
“Show me,” he says. “I’ve been waiting all day.”  
Iris laughs. She opens her purse and pulls the velvet box out, handing it to Barry. He opens it and leans close to Oliver to show him. She knows what they’re seeing. A silver infinity band with a single diamond with two amethysts on either side.  
“It’s beautiful,” Barry whispers.  
“A true work of art,” Oliver agrees. He looks up to Iris. “She’s a lucky girl.”  
“I’m the lucky one,” Iris insists and reaches for the box. “Now give it, before she comes back.”  
“When are you planning?” Barry closes the box and hands it back.  
“We’re visiting her family for Thanksgiving,” she says, putting it back in her purse. “Her mom is planning on making her favorite dessert and it’s gonna be right on top.”  
Barry grabs her hand. She looks up into his eyes.  
“I’m happy for you,” he says. “I can’t wait for the wedding.”  
Iris feels tears prick her eyes. She swallows and blinks them away. “Thanks.”   
They start eating again and steer the conversation away from the ring. By the time Linda gets back they’re laughing a story from Barry and Iris’ first date.   
“Then he dives into the little pond trying to get the club and we were escorted out by management.”  
They finish dinner and walk out of the restaurant.  
Iris hugs Oliver. “It was great meeting you,” she says.  
“You as well,” he replies.  
They pull away and Iris moves to hug Barry.  
“He’s a really great guy,” she whispers.  
“I know,” he whispers back, giddy.  
She pulls away and smiles up at him. “See you tomorrow?”  
“Of course,” he replies.  
The two couples part ways. Iris and Linda get in their car and watch Barry and Oliver climb onto a motorcycle and drive away.   
“Oliver really is a great guy,” Linda muses. “He seems good for Barry.”  
“Yeah,” Iris agrees. “They seem good for each other.”  
She turns to look at Linda who looks at her.  
“I love you,” Linda says almost reverently.  
“I love you, too.” Iris leans in to kiss her.


	5. When My High Tide Comes, You'll Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are great. Barry has some problems.

A week later, Oliver wakes up in Barry’s bed to soft strumming of a guitar. He’s lying on his stomach, naked and covered by the sheets. He opens his eyes to morning light streaming in. He turns his head and sees Barry at his desk, only wearing boxers and carefully strumming the chords. He watches lithe fingers pluck and slide along the strings.   
Barry hums a little melody. It’s simple and sounds familiar, but Oliver can’t place it. Barry looks up at him and sees he’s awake. He stops playing and smiles.    
“Good morning,” he whispers. He sets the guitar on the floor and moves to the bed. He sits on the edge and leans down to kiss his lips. “Did I wake you?”   
Oliver shakes his head. “I liked it though. Why’d you stop?”   
“I haven’t played in a while,” Barry says, laying down and draping an arm over Oliver’s back. “When I play for you, it’s gonna be good, not rusty.”   
“Sounded good to me,” Oliver mumbles, closing his eyes. “Might’ve even put me in the mood.”   
There’s a light smack on his back and he chuckles.   
“Shouldn’t you be getting to the studio for your secret project?” Barry asks.   
“Later,” Oliver mumbles. “Want to spend the morning with you.”   
Barry shifts and the arm across Oliver’s back leaves. Oliver opens his eyes and sees Barry looking at the ceiling with a tense expression. Oliver shifts to put his arm across Barry’s stomach.   
“What’s up?” he asks.   
“Nothing,” Barry says. “I just don’t think I’ll be much fun today.”   
Oliver moves closer and kisses Barry’s shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about it?”   
He notices a shine in Barry’s eyes, his jaw clenches, and he blinks quickly. “Not sober.”   
They stay quiet for a moment.   
“Okay,” Oliver whispers, kissing his shoulder again. He climbs out of the bed a gets his clothes on. He looks back to the bed where Barry is watching him, a sad smile on his face. Oliver walks over and kisses him lightly.   
“I’ll head over to the studio,” he whispers and kisses him again. “Do you want me to come by later?”   
Barry looks at him for a moment before he nods.   
“Then I’ll see you later,” Oliver says. He slips out of the bedroom and shuts the door.   
He turns and stops when he sees a shirtless Cisco standing in the kitchen drinking coffee. He’s looking at Oliver over the mug with raised eyebrows. Oliver nods and walks to the door.   
“You really that good in bed?” Cisco asks before he can escape.   
Oliver freezes. He turns to look at him. “I don’t know. Want to find out?”   
Cisco chokes and coughs, giving Oliver the chance to leave.   
He calls Shado on the way out, setting up a time to meet. He rushes home and changes clothes. Then heads to campus.   
He steps into the studio where his two secret projects reside. One finished and covered, waiting until it was time for the gallery.   
The other one is almost finished. It was a body in a running stance from neck to feet. It wears a Greek-style skirt and had winged sandals on its feet. All that was left to add was the head. Barry’s head.    
Shado is sitting at the base, mixing a tub of the clay they’d been using. He steps up and joins her.   
“Ready to get this done?” she asks.   
“So ready,” he replies.   
He takes a chunk of clay and puts it on a table. He starts to shape it. He makes the shape he’s become familiar holding. He sculpts the nose above a beaming grin. He shapes the eyes and ears. Shado adds input about how to properly make laugh lines or shaping the teeth.   
Hours go by and the light changes from clear to red-orange. He adds windswept hair and it’s finished.    
Shado sighs next to him. “That’s incredible.”   
“He is,” Oliver says, lifting it off the table and moving to the headless body.   
They work together to properly attach it and soon it’s complete. They walk around, inspecting it from head to toe. Oliver steps back and exhales heavily.   
“It’s done,” he announces softly.   
Shado stands next to him and places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s amazing, Oliver,” she praises, then nudges him to the door. “Now get out of here. I’ll add the bronze coating on Monday.”   
Oliver grabs her arm and pulls her into a hug. “Thank you, Shado. I couldn’t have done it without you.”   
She hugs him and pats his back. “I’m happy to help.”   
Oliver leaves with a smile on his face. He rushes home to clean up and change before heading back to Barry’s.   
He’s walking out of his door when his phone starts ringing. Cisco is calling him.   
“Hey Cisco,” he greets a little confused. “I’m on my way over.”   
“Oh good,” Cisco breathes out. There’s muffled shouting coming from his end that can’t make out. “Hurry over. I think Barry needs you.”   
Oliver hangs up and gets on his motorcycle, starting it up and speeds down the roads. He hastily parks and runs up the stairs to the apartment door. He hears the muffled shouting again.   
“And like, why shouldn’t I push myself?” Barry shouts. “I deserve it. I need to run.”   
Oliver opens the door without knocking. Barry is pacing the living room with a half-empty vodka bottle in his hand. Cisco and Ronnie stand near him, both tense as if waiting to pounce forward and catch Barry.    
They all turn to look at Oliver; Barry whips his body around. A huge grin appears on his face and he stumbles into Oliver’s arms, nearly falling to the floor.   
“My amazing boyfriend’s here,” he slurs loudly. “Just in time. We just started drinking. Here have some.” He holds up the bottle and Oliver grabs it and carefully pulls it from Barry’s grasp. He holds it out and Ronnie rushes to take it. Barry looks at his hand where it used to be and studies it as if unsure where the bottle went.   
“Hey, Barry,” Oliver says, trying to sound happy. “Are you okay?”   
“I’m fine,” Barry says somewhat happily. “Everything’s great. The earth’s still spinning, and the universe is still as uncaring as ever. Taking away good things even when they don’t deserve to be taken away.”   
Barry stops in his rambling. He stares unseeing at Oliver’s chin.   
“Everything’s fine,” he says softer. Then he leans forward and starts crying on Oliver’s shoulder.    
Oliver wraps his arms around him, holding him steady as Barry bawls in the doorway. Oliver looks to Cisco and Ronnie who are both trying to hide their own tears. They look as helpless as Barry.   
Oliver turns his attention back to Barry, rubbing his back and lovingly hushing him.   
“It’s okay, Barry. Just let it out.”   
As the crying dies a little, Oliver lifts Barry’s head to look at him.   
“Wanna take a ride to Big Belly Burger?”   
Barry nods and Oliver leads him out to the hallway. He has to practically carry him down the stairs and helps him onto the motorcycle. Barry’s grip around his waist is tighter than usual. The ride is quick, and they stumble in, make their order and find a booth separated from the other patrons.    
They sit next to each other, Barry leaning against Oliver who has an arm around his shoulders. They sit in silence and when the workers bring their three trays of food, they all look at Barry with pity.    
“Hey, Barr,” Oliver whispers. “Food’s here.”   
Barry opens his eyes and he perks up at the sight of the food. He grabs a burger and takes an enormous bite. Oliver eats a little but focuses on Barry. They don’t really say anything. Oliver knows that Barry will tell him when he’s ready.   
It isn’t long until they’re leaving, Oliver giving the workers a substantial tip for helping them.   
As Barry steps into the night air, he takes a shuddering breath. He closes his eyes and just breathes. Oliver stands next to him, taking his hand and watching him carefully.   
“I can’t see the stars,” Barry mumbles.   
“Your eyes are closed,” Oliver points out.   
Barry opens them and stares at the night sky. “Still can’t see them.”   
“C’mon,” Oliver tugs him to the bike. “I know a place.”   
They drive to the track. Oliver helps him over the fence and leads him to the field in the middle. Barry flops to the ground and stares up at the sky. Oliver lays next to him and looks up. The stars are brighter here if still faded. Barry seems satisfied though, so he counts it as a win.   
“I have to keep running,” Barry whispers.   
Oliver turns to watch him. “Why?”   
Barry swallows.   
“You don’t have to tell me,” Oliver backtracks. “Only when you’re ready.”   
Barry sighs. “I was eleven.”   
Oliver grabs Barry’s hand and squeezes it lightly. Barry swallows again before he continues.   
“Iris and I had sleepovers all the time. Sometimes at my house, sometimes hers. I was over at the West’s for the night. We weren’t even getting ready for bed when Joe got the call. He sat me down on the couch and…”   
Barry takes a shuddering breath and his voice is thick as he cries but continues.   
“And told me there’d been a break in. We only lived a few blocks away, so I ran. Joe tried to chase me, but I was fast then. So, I ran. I ran all the way home. Hoping, praying that when I got there, everything would be fine. I kept telling myself, ‘Run, Barry! Run!’”   
Barry turns to his side and curls into Oliver. He cries on his shoulder again.   
“Ten years ago, today,” Barry gasps out between cries. “I didn’t make it. I couldn’t make it.”   
Oliver pulls Barry into a hug, holding him as he cries. He says nothing because there’s nothing he can say. He just makes sure Barry knows he’s there as support. He’s there for him.   
They stay like that, holding each other. Oliver rubs his back.   
Barry cries himself to sleep there on the field. When Oliver’s sure he’s asleep, he pulls out his phone and texts Cisco.   
_                                                                                                                                                     We’re gonna stay out tonight. Go to sleep. I’ll bring him back in the morning. _   
A reply comes not long after.   
_ Okay. Thank you. _   
Oliver tucks his phone in his pocket and curls around Barry, pressing them together.   
~   
Oliver wakes as Barry shifts closer to him. The sun is rising and his body shivers from the cold night.   
He hears Barry mumble. “Ollie?”   
Oliver looks down and sees Barry blinking slowly, staring at his chest.   
“Good morning,” Oliver whispers. “How’d you sleep?”   
“Okay,” Barry answers, groggy. “It’s cold.”   
“Do you wanna go back home?”   
Barry nods and they slowly pull apart to stand. Oliver takes Barry’s hand and they amble off the field to climb over the fence. Barry holds Oliver and lays on his back as Oliver drives them back to the apartment.    
They’re quiet in the stairwell. Oliver has a hand on Barry’s back, making sure he can walk.   
In the hallway, Barry suddenly stops and turns to look at Oliver.   
“I told you, right?” he asks quietly. “That wasn’t just the vodka?”   
Oliver places a hand on Barry’s cheek. “You told me.”   
Barry leans into the hand and sighs. “Sometimes when I run, I can still hear myself.”   
Oliver raises his other hand to hold Barry’s face. Barry watches him as he leans in to gently kiss him.   
“I love you, Barry Allen,” he whispers. Barry’s eyes widen as Oliver continues. “I’ve been too scared to say it, but I love you. And this doesn’t make me love you any less.”   
Barry stares, tears starting to fall down his face.   
“I love you, too,” he says. He grabs Oliver and pulls him into a breath-taking hug. Oliver holds him and rubs his back. Barry cries silently and Oliver coos into his hair.   
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”   
They pull apart and shuffle down the hall, quickly slipping into the apartment. Cisco is asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. Barry giggles at the sight and pulls Oliver into his bedroom. Inside he strips to his underwear and climbs into bed. As he pulls the covers up, he looks up at Oliver who is standing, watching him.   
“You gonna come in?” he asks.   
“In a little bit,” Oliver says. “I’m gonna make you some breakfast.”   
Barry smiles and nods. He lays down and shuts his eyes. Oliver slips out the door and shuts it quietly behind him.   
He moves to the little kitchen and pulls out omelet ingredients.   
Cisco wakes up after the first omelet is made. He squints at Oliver and moves to stand by the counter.   
“When did you guys get in?” Cisco croaks.   
“About ten minutes ago.” Oliver doesn’t look up from the second omelet cooking.   
“Did he… tell you?” Cisco hesitates.   
“He did,” Oliver answers.   
Cisco sighs and rubs his eyes. “It isn’t usually that bad. He gets drunk, but he usually just sits on the couch, begs us to play video games for hours until he starts crying. Last night was different though.”   
“How?” Oliver sprinkles in the toppings.   
“He wouldn’t sit still,” Cisco recalls. “He kept pacing and drinking. He normally will wear out pretty quickly and collapse on the couch, but he just kept… escalating.”   
Cisco moves to the fridge and pulls out the orange juice. “Ronnie and I weren’t sure what to do, so we figured three people could handle him. And you would be able to distract him a little.”   
“Thank you,” Oliver says, flipping the omelet, “for calling and trusting me.”   
“Of course, dude. Just ‘cause you don’t talk a lot, doesn’t mean we’re not close.”   
Oliver smiles and flips the omelet one more time.    
“Are you guys gonna stay in bed all day?” Cisco asks with a suggestive lilt and wagging eyebrows.   
Oliver chuckles and puts the omelets on a plate. “That’s up to Barry.”   
“Can you at least wait till Ronnie and I are out?” Cisco whines.   
Oliver laughs and goes back to Barry’s room. He shuts the door and stares at Barry. His face is relaxed and he’s snoring softly. Oliver smiles and steps up to the bed, putting the plate on the nightstand. He gently shakes Barry’s shoulder.   
“Hey, Barr,” he whispers. “Do you want to eat?”   
Barry snuffles and blinks slowly. He looks at Oliver and smiles.   
“Hey,” he mumbles, stretching a little. “What’s up?”   
“Food,” Oliver says, holding the plate. “Do you want?”   
“Yes,” Barry says.    
He sits up and pats the space next to him. Oliver hands him the plate and takes his spot. Barry inhales his omelet and half of Oliver’s.    
The plate is set aside, and Barry works Oliver’s shirt and pants off, leaving him in his underwear. They curl up under the sheets and hold each other, feeling their breath from their chest and the air from their mouths. Oliver lifts a hand to lightly trace Barry’s face. He knows it better than he knows his own, but he likes to feel the soft skin, the hard bones underneath. He runs it along Barry’s hairline, then traces his eyebrows.    
Barry closes his eyes.   
“What do you want to do today?” Oliver asks in a hushed tone.   
“Stay here with you,” Barry answers.   
Oliver wraps his arm around Barry’s waist and presses them together. “Cisco said he and Ronnie will be out later.”   
Barry’s smile turns mischievous. “Perfect.”   
Oliver chuckles and closes his eyes. He focuses on the body next to him. The body he’s painted and sculpted in more ways than one.   
He never would’ve guessed that he’s been waiting his entire life for Barry Allen.   



	6. The Fires That Burn the Brightest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't great until they are.

Today is the day.

Oliver is turning in his final pieces. In a week, everything will be moved to the gallery and three weeks after that, it will be open and all of Oliver’s hard work will be appreciated as it deserves.

Barry runs the track with Jesse. They had made a bet to see how close Jesse could finish behind him. Carl and Rita are timing them both at the finish line, shouting encouragement to Jesse.

“You got this girl! Come on! You can win this!”

Barry smiles and pushes forward. Two laps. They are almost done. He can hear Jesse breathing heavily and her feet slapping the track as she chases him.

Last curve. Straighten out. Deep breath. Final push.

“Come on, Jesse!”

Three yards.

Two yards.

One yard.

Barry crosses the finish line. He shuffles to a stop and raises his arms over his head. Jesse stops next to him.

“One day, Allen,” she says.

“One day, Wells,” he says.

Carl and Rita walk up to them, looking at the stopwatches.

“So,” Jesse says. “What’s the verdict?”

“It looks like,” Rita types in numbers on her phone, “1.624 seconds.”

“Yes,” Jesse breathes. “You owe me a week of Big Belly Burger lunches.”

“Okay, okay,” Barry says. “Are we done here?”

“Why, got a hot date?”

Barry smiles and makes his way to the locker room.

“Oh my God,” Jesse calls after him.

Barry strips and gets into a shower, stretching his muscles under the hot stream. He imagines Oliver handing in the final painting. He’d have that small smile and a happy glint in his eyes. Barry loves when Oliver smiles. They’re always small and brief and always worth catching.

Barry dries off and dresses quickly. Oliver should be home by now.

Barry walks out and starts jogging to Oliver’s apartment. Oliver thinks he’s supposed to pick up Barry later. Barry wants the long walk. The light jog helps him make up for the practice he’s missing, and it helps the excitement in his body build up.

By the time he gets to Oliver’s, he’s riled up and ready for whatever they end up doing.

He walks up to the door, knowing it’ll be unlocked. Just before he grabs the doorknob, he hears shouting from the other side.

“No, Moira,” a gruff male voice says. “We’ve indulged this long enough. He’s coming back home.”

Barry quietly opens the door and slips in. Oliver stands next to his bed, dressed in his paint clothes. He’s looking down at his shoes.

An older man and woman stand in the middle of the room. The woman is still, composed. Her chin is held up, her hands crossed in front of her. She looks at the man with an almost detached anger.

The man is anything but still and composed. His arms gesticulate wildly and he’s stepping around himself constantly. His shouts ring through the room.

“I’ve given you time to push past this hobby of yours but it’s clear you have no intention of moving forward. You’re coming back to Star City and you’re going to start your actual career.”

“Robert.” The woman steps forward and stops when she sees Barry. “Can we help you?”

Oliver’s head snaps up and his eyes widen when he sees Barry.

The man, Robert, turns. “Who are you?”

“No one,” Oliver says. He crosses to Barry. He grabs his arm and starts leading him to the door. “Go home. I’ll call you later.”

“No,” Barry says, pulling free and stepping back in the room. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Oliver hisses, reaching for Barry who jumps out of his reach.

“Oliver,” the woman says. “Who is this?”

Oliver sighs and turns to look at the couple. “Mother, father, this is my friend, Barry Allen.”

Barry gives him a look but doesn’t say anything.

“Is he an ‘artist’ as well,” Robert asks in a restrained tone.

“No,” Barry says. “I’m a track student.”

Robert scoffs and looks away. Moira gives him a curious look, but it slips back to composed.

“Enough of this, Oliver,” Robert says. “Pack your things. We’re leaving tonight.”

“Wait, what?” Barry asks.

“Barry,” Oliver says. “Please just go.”

“No.” Barry steps up to the couple. “Oliver is an incredible artist. His work is gonna be showcased at the Museum of Arts in a month. He-”

“Enough,” Robert shouts. “This is a family matter, young man. Your input isn’t needed.”

“Father,” Oliver says through gritted teeth.

“No, Oliver,” Robert continues. “It’s time to stop acting like a child. You have responsibilities back home. Now get packed and let’s go.”

There’s a tense silence while Oliver and Robert stare at each other. Then Oliver ducks his head. “Yes, father.”

Oliver grabs Barry’s arm gently and leads him back to the door. He opens it and guides Barry out. Barry turns to look at him. Oliver’s eyes are cast down.

“Ollie,” Barry whispers.

“It’s probably best,” Oliver says, “if we take a break.”

Barry stares. “What?”

“It’ll be too difficult if we’re in different cities. Besides my family…”

Oliver’s voice catches, and Barry feels tears in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Barry.”

Oliver closes the door.

Barry stands and stares for a moment. He hears muffled voices and shuffling. It isn’t until he feels a tear run down his face that he steps away and leaves. The afternoon sun blinds him when he steps out. He wipes his face and looks around the busy street. Cars running by, people milling about. He looks to his right. His place is about two miles that way. Not far for his five-minute mile.

_ Run, Barry! Run! _

He doesn’t know how he makes it. He doesn’t feel like he’s running. He doesn’t feel the familiar jolt with each step. He doesn’t feel the wind on his face. He doesn’t feel his gasping breath. He barely registers his surroundings passing. He even runs past his apartment before he shuffles to a stop. He stumbles back and up the stairs, chest heaving from the run and his crying.

He fumbles with his keys and shuffles into the apartment. Ronnie and Cisco are messing with their robot while Caitlin and Cynthia are playing Mario Kart. Cisco glances up to smile but looks back when he sees Barry’s face.

“Hey, man,” he says, standing and walking up. “What’s wrong?”

Barry looks around the room, dazed by the sight. “I… Oliver…”

Caitlin and Cynthia step up, their game apparently paused.

“Barry?” Caitlin says, taking his hand and leading him to the couch.

“Use your words, Barr,” Cynthia says.

They both place a hand on his shoulders and they help ground him.

“Oliver,” Barry says. “His parents…”

“Are you meeting them?” Ronnie asks.

“I met them,” Barry says. He closes his eyes and wipes his face.

“How’d it go?” Cynthia asks.

That’s when it hits. He feels a pain in his chest, his muscles feel tight, and his head pounds.

“He’s leaving,” Barry whispers. “He’s leaving Metropolis… leaving me…”

He breaks into sobs.

_ He’s leaving… _

He feels his friends hold him. He hears them talking but he doesn’t understand them.

He doesn’t know how, but he ends up in his bed. Cisco sits by his desk, watching him.

“You need anything?” he asks.

Barry shakes his head and turns over. His body feels heavy. He wants to sleep.

~

Barry runs. The track a familiar. It makes him comfortable. He crosses the line and keeps running.

“Barry!”

_ Run, Barry! Run! _

“Barry!”

_ Come on, Barry. _

“Stop, kid!”

Barry stops in the middle of the first curve. He bends over to catch his breath. Coach Wilson walks up to him.

“I told you to stop after 3,” Coach says.

“I could keep going,” Barry replies.

“Doesn’t matter, kid. I still told you to stop.”

Barry heaves a breath and stands up.

“I know it’s been rough,” Coach starts.

“I’m gonna hit the showers,” Barry interrupts. He jogs over to grab his water and heads into the locker room. He knows Coach Wilson is watching him, but he doesn’t care. Two weeks still isn’t enough time to get over his boyfriend just up and leaving without a proper explanation.

He showers and dries off. He checks his phone.

3:44 PM. Earlier than usual.

There’s an email from Professor Gulong. He opens it.

_ Mr. Allen, _

_ I write this email to request your company at the Metropolis Museum of Art. _

_ Could we meet at the front entrance at 4:30? _

_ Professor Yao Fei Gulong _

Barry rereads it. The museum is closed in preparation for Oliver’s showcase. What could Professor Gulong need him for there?

He packed his bag and called Ronnie for a ride.

Ronnie drops him off at the front steps.

“You sure you don’t want me to wait?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” Barry says, getting out. “Thanks, man.”

He walks up the steps. A security guard stands by the entrance.

“Museum’s closed,” he says in a gruff voice.

“I’m Barry Allen. I’m supposed to meet Professor Gulong.”

The man raises his eyebrows and looks him up and down. Then he opens the door, gesturing Barry inside. Barry walks in. The entryway is spacious, a balcony looks down where two statues stand. One is a girl dressed in ancient Greek style. She holds a drawn bow and arrow. The other is one of Barry dressed in a Greek skirt and winged sandals. Hermes and Artemis.

A blonde woman stands between them, her posture poised, and head held high. She turns to look at him.

“Ah, Mr. Allen,” Moira Queen greets.

“Mrs. Queen,” Barry replies. He feels the need to do something like a bow. He doesn’t, instead, he walks up to her.

“I’m glad you could meet with me,” she says.

“I thought Professor Gulong wanted to meet me.”

“I asked him to contact you,” she explains. “I thought you wouldn’t come if it was I asking.”

Barry nods slightly. “So, what am I doing here.”

“Walk with me,” she says, stepping around the statue of Barry.

He follows her, walking among the art pieces that have been placed. He recognizes some of Oliver’s landscapes as well as other pieces. Renderings of Barry’s friends in comic book print styles. Cisco and Ronnie with their robot, Caitlin in her lab coat, Cynthia in her boxing gear. All enlarged and digitally printed from the sketchbook Barry had seen.

They pass through and reach a section of paintings. Paintings of Barry.

“My son has quite an eye for beauty,” Moira muses. “He knows how to capture what makes anything special.”

They stop by a painting of Barry’s naked torso. His face is unclear, but the brown hair and lean body are unmistakable.

“You must mean a lot to him,” she says.

“Meant,” Barry mumbles.

Moira gives him a curious look, then continues. Barry follows.

They reach the end of the paintings, and a portrait resides on an otherwise empty wall. There’s an air of reverence around it. Soft brown hair, green eyes, fair skin. There’s a white plaque titling it “ _ Speedy _ .”

“Who is this?” Barry asks under his breath.

“My daughter,” Moira says. “Thea.”

Barry looks to her. Her expression is soft and melancholic.

“Oliver never mentioned a sister.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. None of us really talk about her these days.”

She steps closer to the painting. “They were the closest of siblings. Oliver always found a way to make Thea feel loved and included. He would bring her along when he and his friends did anything.”

Barry sees her eyes shining.

“One night, they were out on the town. They’d gone to a concert or something. Oliver says they’d left early. Apparently, they were arguing about something. He doesn’t remember what about. They were passing through an intersection when a drunk driver ran a red light.”

Her breath catches.

“The passenger side was hit straight on. No one could have saved her. But Oliver blames himself for it.”

She turns to look at Barry. “Robert wasn’t forgiving at the time. Oliver received the brunt of his anger and he just took it, believing he deserved every word. Not long after that, Oliver came here.”

Barry looked at the painting. Thea smiles back at him, seeming so full of life.

“She encouraged him to paint,” Moira continues. “He was a natural. He loved drawing the landscapes around our home. She gave him a painting set for one of his birthdays. She never let him give it up. It’s because of her he was here.”

She takes a deep breath and continues.

“She always pestered him for just painting landscapes. She begged him to paint a portrait of her, but he refused, saying he didn’t know how to paint the human form. After the accident, I asked him if he would consider painting her portrait for her funeral, but he said we would never paint people ever.”

Barry looks at the plaque and notices the date it was finished.

“That was the day we met,” Barry says. He looks back at Moira. “He painted this the day we met.”

She looks at him with slight surprise, then looks back at the portrait.

“It seems you are quite inspiring, Mr. Allen.” She turns away and starts walking back to the entrance.

Barry looks one last time at the painting. It makes his heart ache a little despite never meeting her. He thinks about when he met Oliver. The man of few words guarded and protective of his secrets. An accident made worse by a father’s unforgiving words.

“I’m sorry I’ll never get the chance to meet you.”

The painting just smiles as Barry follows Moira back to the statues. She stands between them, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and looking up at the statues he knows recognizes as Thea.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Barry says.

“Thank you,” Moira replies. “It’s still difficult to think about.”

“I’m sure, but why are you telling me this?”

Moira sighs. “Oliver didn’t want to leave you, but when Robert came, Oliver retreated to old habits. Even when he doesn’t want to, he does what Robert tells him to.”

“Why?”

“He wants his father’s love and appreciation,” Moira says. “Robert knows how to appear as the dominant alpha man, and Oliver cowers under the pressure. He’ll do what his father tells him even if it makes him unhappy.”

Moira’s gaze becomes determined. “Which is why I am asking you to come save him.”

Barry stares at her. “Why me?”

“Even I could see how smitten and protective of you he was. That hasn’t faded. If anyone can make Oliver see sense, you can.”

Barry looks around the room, studying the art. Oliver’s art.

“When should I leave?” he asks, turning to look at her.

She smiles. “My plane leaves this evening.”

~

Oliver sits at his desk, reading over the latest jargon-filled paper his father’s assistant had given him when he’d gotten in an hour before. The words blur, and he doesn’t comprehend anything he is reading.

He puts them down and rubs his eyes. He has another long day ahead of him. He pushes a button to talk with his assistant outside his office.

“Felicity, when’s my next meeting?”

“ _ Not until 11 _ ,” the woman’s voice replies.

Oliver sighs.

“ _ Also, I think you should step out here _ ,” she continues then hangs up.

Oliver perks a little and squints at his door. He stands and walks to it.

Before he opens it, he hears a guitar strumming. He opens it and steps out.

There in the hallway, Barry stands strumming his guitar. He looks at Oliver and takes a deep breath then starts singing.

_ We were alive, our blood was red _

_ No need for air, breathe you instead _

_ It was magic what we had _

_ My love rushed in at the right time _

_ Screamed color in your black and white _

_ Lived a lifetime in a flash _

_ But I see how this story ends _

_ Where I won't stay _

_ And where you won't forget _

_ Darling you're in deep, your skin is covered _

_ Loving me with all my watercolors _

_ But I wash off easily _

_ All we have is this heat of the moment _

_ Won't last on the high of our emotions _

_ 'Cause I wash off easily _

_ Soon I'll be gone _

_ You don't belong with me _

Barry takes a step forward, gaze trained on Oliver. People have stepped out of their offices to watch. Oliver sees them from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t pay them any attention.

Barry continues.

_ Oh I'm not one to fit one place _

_ This wild heart won't pull its weight _

_ I will only let you down _

_ Our sky can't always be this blue _

_ So don't you try to steal the moon _

_ 'Cause when my high tide comes, you'll drown _

_ So run before the bitterness _

_ Where I won't stay _

_ And where you won't forget _

_ Darling you're in deep, your skin is covered _

_ Loving me with all my watercolors _

_ But I wash off easily _

_ All we have is this heat of the moment _

_ Won't last on the high of our emotions _

_ 'Cause I wash off easily _

_ Soon I'll be gone _

_ You don't belong with me _

Oliver steps forward so that he’s right in front of Barry. He tries to swallow but his throat feels dry. Barry’s eyes shine, and his voice sounds thick as he continues.

_ The fires that burn the brightest _

_ Ain't meant to last the longest _

_ So let me give you back your heart _

His voice gets soft and a tear streams down his face.

_ Darling you're in deep, your skin is covered _

_ Loving me with all my watercolors _

_ But I wash off easily _

_ Darling you're in deep, your skin is covered _

_ Loving me with all my watercolors _

_ But I wash off easily _

_ All we have is this heat of the moment _

_ Won't last on the high of our emotions _

_ 'Cause I wash off easily _

_ Soon I'll be gone _

_ You don't belong with me _

_ Soon I'll be gone _

_ You don't belong with me. _

There’s polite applause as people watch them. Oliver searches Barry’s face. Barry swallows.

“I know that you’re scared to show me the parts of you that are hurting,” he says in a hushed tone. “And if you don’t want me anymore then I’ll leave.” His breath catches at that but then he continues. “But I love you, Oliver, and I couldn’t let you leave my life without you hearing that one last time.”

He watches Oliver.

Oliver watches him. His chest feels tight and he doesn’t know if he can speak. He hears his father’s voice:  _ It’s time you become a man and do what you’re supposed to do _ .

He looks at Barry’s green eyes.

“I love you, Barry Allen,” he whispers, “And I want you in my life for as long as I can have you.”

Barry smiles. “Then come home, Ollie.”

He thinks about his father, how disappointed he’ll be. He thinks about his mother and her quiet support. He thinks about Thea and what she would tell him he needs to do.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers.

~

“Yes, Barry,” Oliver moans. He lays on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow, while Barry thrusts inside him.

Barry lays over him, whispering in his ear. “You’re amazing, Ollie. You’re incredible and you’re so good for me.”

Oliver feels kisses along his shoulders.

“Are you excited for people to tell you how amazing you are?” Barry whispers.

“I am,” Oliver says.

“Are you excited for everyone to see how amazing you are?” Barry whispers, accentuating each word with a hard thrust.

“Yes,” Oliver hisses.

“Show me how amazing you are,” Barry says. A hand slips between Oliver’s stomach and the bed, taking hold of his cock and stroking. “Come for me, Ollie. Come for me.”

Oliver moans as he comes, soaking his bedsheets.

“That’s it,” Barry says, thrusting faster until he comes inside Oliver.

Oliver sighs and smiles. Barry always knows how to help him.

Barry licks his ear then kisses his neck. “Feeling better?”

“Much better.”

Another kiss between his shoulder blades and Barry pulls out. Oliver winces at the empty feeling. He rolls to his side and looks to Barry who grabs a towel and walks back to the bed. Barry climbs onto the bed and carefully wipes up Oliver’s cum covered stomach.

When he finishes, Oliver pulls him down for a slow kiss, basking in the afterglow.

Barry chuckles and pulls away. “We should get ready.”

“We’ve got time,” Oliver says, leaning in for another kiss.

“Not if we’re meeting up with your mom and Laurel like we promised.”

Oliver sighs and climbs out of the bed. “I’ll shower first then.”

He turns at the door and sees Barry staring at his ass.

Oliver smirks. “You could join me.”

Barry gazes snaps up and he smiles. “Not if we want to actually leave this apartment.”

Oliver sighs heavily and steps into the shower. The hot water runs down his body, slipping between his ass cheeks and cleaning the lube still there. He thinks about Barry’s strong hands holding his wrists over Oliver’s head. He thinks about Barry’s hot words and teasing kisses. The way Barry uses his legs spread Oliver’s apart for him to slip inside.

Oliver looks down and curses himself. His cock is hard again. He turns the dial, so the water can be cold. He scrubs his body and cleans his hair. He watches the soap run down the drain. The sight isn’t as lonely as it used to be.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Ollie, hurry up. I’ve got to shower too.”

Oliver laughs and turns off the water. He gets out a wraps towel around his waist. He opens the door to Barry standing on the other side, still very naked. Barry smiles at him and looks his body up and down.

“Damn, I have good taste in men,” he says.

Oliver laughs and kisses him. “So, do I.”

Barry slips past him and Oliver walks to grab his suit hanging on the salmon ladder. He remembers using it and Barry watching with him, then when he dropped down Barry dragged him to the bed, kissing and stripping his shorts off.

Oliver shakes his head and gets dressed. He’s buttoning his shirt when Barry steps out, wrapped in a towel and glistening with the water still on him. Oliver watches as he takes off the towel and slips into underwear. When Barry looks up, he smirks and wags his eyebrows.

Oliver laughs and shakes his head. “That was the least sexy thing you’ve ever done.”

“You still love me,” Barry says walking up behind him and wrapping his arms around Oliver’s waist.

“I do,” Oliver says knotting his tie. He turns around and cups Barry’s face and kisses him. “Now get dressed.”

“Why?” Barry whines.

“Because you said so,” Oliver teases.

Barry pouts but drops his arms. “Fine.” He grabs his suit and starts getting dressed.

Oliver finishes and checks his phone. Laurel had texted him.

_ On our way over. See you in ten minutes. _

“They’ll be here soon,” he says. He looks up to see Barry in his suit. His breath catches at the sight. The slim fit is perfect on him and it makes Oliver think of having that body over him.

“Then let’s go down and meet up with them.” Barry smirks at Oliver’s hungry gaze.

Oliver steps up and puts his arms around Barry. “If I didn’t have to be there, we would not have left that bed today.”

“That sounds nice,” Barry says. “Tomorrow?”

“Perfect.”

They leave and wait on the sidewalk for the limousine that pulls up soon. They get in and greet Moira and Laurel.

“Don’t you two look nice,” Moira says.

“I don’t think you’ve been in a suit for years, Ollie,” Laurel says, patting down her skirt.

“Haven’t needed to wear one for a while,” Oliver replies.

The drive is short. They pull up outside the museum. Flashing lights, and shouting paparazzi stand behind velvet rope.

Oliver looks at Barry. “You ready?”

Barry smiles. “Let’s do this.”


End file.
